


Through the Blackest Nights

by Snarkoleptic



Series: Precipice and Flight [2]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Adventure, Closure, Dragon Age 2 Post-Game, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:49:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarkoleptic/pseuds/Snarkoleptic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to The Smallest of Deeds, following the characters after the conclusion of the events of DA2. Reading TSOD is not required, but it will give you some background for the premise and character development in this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vengeance Won

**PROLOGUE**

 _Vengeance Won_

* * *

 _O Maker, hear my cry:  
Guide me through the blackest nights  
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked  
Make me to rest in the warmest places._

 **Canticle of Transfigurations**

* * *

The setting felt almost cavernous, the surrounding trees pressing out the natural light and chilling the soft sand at their feet. Occasionally, the dream gave the impression of bodies littering the ground, disfigured beyond recognition. Before one flickered out of his perception, Davin Hawke caught a fleeting glimpse of a Sword of Mercy on a piece of mutilated armor, and he knew. _It's the campsite that started his flight from Vigil's Keep. This would be where Rolan met his end. Of course it would be here; this was the first occasion the bloody spirit had to suppress the nature of a born healer._

The landscape wouldn't be still, constantly shifting in contrast with the static resolve of those who would intrude upon a nightmare. With every blink, Hawke was shaken from his ingrained and automatic concentration. Each time a landmark moved, or a stand of trees disappeared entirely, or a fresh tent was created in a new and inconvenient place, he lost the measure he held for timing and distance to his target. Almost too late he switched his focus, marking instead his brother and his friend as they danced around their foe, weaving and dodging, their distance holding fast at the points of their great blades even as they were deflected by the shield the ethereal form carried.

They were making progress, but it had been a long and bloody battle to weaken their quarry. Vaguely aware of Merrill at his left, Hawke stepped back to give her the fore as the shocking bursts from her staff cut off abruptly. Seeing her target's increasing fatigue, the elf traced patterns in the space before her, the very air alight with the angry strokes of her sigil, the spell flaring as her voice touched each nexus of the invocation. "That's just about got him! Hit him while the hitting is good!"

That same sigil lit the ground below their target, weakening their enemy's resistance to the blades his flagging energy was no longer able to successfully repel. Alarmed, he summoned a burst of spirit to stagger the warriors, sending them off their feet and out of reach. Glancing around to choose his tactic, he advanced on Fenris, whose blade had fallen too far from his hand to be reclaimed. The elf crawled backwards, determined not to make himself so easy a kill, when the land beneath him shifted again. Cornered, now, against a mound of cursed magical earth that hadn't been there before, his sword glinting in the distance as if taunting him with his failure.

And then his opponent stumbled away, stricken forcefully by a fist summoned from that earth, keeping his feet only by the grace of the crackling ice that consumed his form. Fenris's eyes met Merrill's as she called out something that was at once both lilting and vindictive. As he began his dash to rearm himself, his gaze passed over the remnants of frost hovering about Hawke's extended arm.

Injured now, their foe opened an arcane channel to… _Maker, he wasn't here before! Must have saved him until he was needed._ Hawke's perception shifted, following the lines of power to the chained and struggling apparition of the blond man they sought to free. Before he could fully comprehend that the prisoner was being drained to restore their enemy, Carver closed the distance between himself and the former spirit at a sprint, calling for a shield as he ran.

Understanding his brother's intent, Hawke watched for – and even at such a distance, felt a touch of – the smiting power Carver unleashed to interrupt the demon's sickening transfer of energy. As soon as the bonds broke, Hawke's spell came to a close, enveloping the healer's form in a sphere of force that would repel any further attempts at using him to prolong the fight.

Judging the window to shatter the demon with a pommel strike to be closed, Carver brought his sword around and lunged, piercing his target's back and eliciting a scream of rage as the _essence_ of the being left its body around his blade. Seeing his chance, Fenris swept in from the side, his blade connecting with the one already lodged in the demon's chest. Wordless cries of defeat echoing throughout the Fade, the corrupted spirit evaporated into the empty air around them.

Justice had long since been consumed. And now, with the realization of the deadly promise Hawke had made years ago, Vengeance was no more.

Even as Hawke dispelled the shield he had cast to protect his love and ran toward Anders's side, the landscape faded, taking his companions with them, replaced with the unrelieved blackness of a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Waking from the spell, Hawke felt like a drowning man taking his first desperate gulp of air. Surging up from the reclining chair he had occupied during the ritual to send the four of them into the Fade, he crossed the dimly lit room, fast strides carrying him to the table where Anders was restrained. He took no notice of the marks remaining on the floor where the magisters had traced them. If he scuffed them now, it would be of no consequence; their purpose had been fulfilled.

Leather straps bound the healer to the table's surface at his wrists, at his feet, across his chest and his legs. _Wrists first,_ Hawke thought, recalling the horrors his love had told him of suffering, hands bound all the while. _If he can move his hands, it will be… less._

Too soon, Anders awoke from the spell and was immediately aware of his condition. Thrust from the panic of drowning under the ritual to the terror of his waking prison, he struggled violently against the bonds that held him down, even as they were released one by one, then two by two as Merrill stepped up without a word to help with the buckles and clasps.

Hawke left Merrill to finish with the restraints once Anders was able to sit up, turning so the healer could hold on and steady himself, speaking low enough that his words remained private. "They were for Justice, Anders. Never for you. If we failed and he took you over, the others would need time to flee. Never again, Anders, I swear it."

The fog of terror receded, whispered away under the soothing breeze of his love's voice. In the calm that followed, Anders realized what had been done. _He's gone. I'm…_ me _, all of me. None of him._ At once, a tide of memory and anguish rose up within him, a forced recollection of all the battles he had won to preserve himself against the spirit and… the consequences of his ultimate failure. Broken, he leaned heavily on the other mage, choking out his gratitude when the man heard the unspoken plea and helped him away from the table where he'd been held.

Remembering Fenris's words before they joined the odd collective of magisters who had aided them, the four combatants gathered their weapons and ushered Anders toward the door without a word. They offered no additional thanks, having traded coin for the favor of the ritual as negotiated. Leaving the magisters with no foothold to imagine any further indebtedness, they exited the small chamber at the base of a gleaming tower and carried their charge back to the tavern and the privacy of their rented space.


	2. Divide

Hawke sat in the flimsy chair, elbows on his knees, cradling his head as he watched Anders sleep. The magisters had warned that he would need rest soon after the business in the Fade was finished. The spirit's presence draining away would leave him exhausted, as would the remnants of the mixture they'd provided to send the healer into an unwilling sleep. Merrill had offered to come upstairs and let them know when the evening meal was served, but he wasn't sure he'd want to eat by that time. He certainly hadn't had an appetite after the morning romp through his lover's worst nightmare. He didn't doubt that Anders would see the necessity of all the subterfuge, at least eventually, but that didn't stop his stomach roiling at the fact of his treachery.

Presently Anders stirred, waking slowly. After a brief moment the blond man seemed to shudder under the blanket, testing his freedom. Watching him have to reassure himself that he wasn't bound, Hawke felt a new knife in his gut.

"Have you been there all this time?" Anders asked as he levered himself up, seeing his outer clothes from this morning folded atop the small table the room held.

"I didn't want you to wake alone. Anders, I… I'm sorry."

Rising, Anders reached for the breeches, then the robes, and crossed the small room to lean back against the chest of drawers, wincing mentally at the pain that flickered over the mage's face at the increased distance. He trusted this man, loved him, and couldn't quite put his finger on what had him uneasy. Or not all of it, anyway. But here was something he could offer. "If you could have freed me earlier, before I'd woken up, you would have. I know that, really. I just… need a minute to remind myself."

Hawke sat upright in his chair, sighing quietly as he caught a hint of the healer's lingering scent, mixed with the odd floral soap the inn allowed its guests for baths. "It's not that, or not only. It's all the deception, it's sneaking a sleeping draught into your tea, it's…"

"It's all the steps you had to take to keep Justice from finding out what you planned to do. And now you're letting guilt scrape through your belly because he wasn't the only one you deceived, and you can just stop it. I never imagined I'd have myself back, Davin, and everything you did was for me, not _to_ me. If I'm shaken every now and again because something out of my past comes up and makes me question why you're still with me, in spite of everything you've ever said, it's not your failing."

"Is that why you're shaken now?" The thickness in his love's voice had him suppressing every urge to cross the room and stand with him, be near him. _But what if that's wrong? Would he see it as another restraint, so soon after this morning?_

Nodding slowly, Anders silently cursed Justice, and the Templars, and the Circles, and everything else in his history that had conspired to make him such a pitiful wreck of a man in the face of the one person who had never judged him. "You saw it. You saw what happened to Rolan. I know better, I do, but after-" Now the healer turned toward the bureau, resting on his elbows and driving the heels of his hands into his eyes to stop the brewing storm. "You've now seen for yourself all the worst things I've ever done. It's weak of me, and it's not fair to you, but part of me is just waiting for you to realize what a monster you dragged with you and walk away."

"All the worst things you've ever done were prompted by the demon we spent the morning killing, were they not?" Hawke held up a hand as Anders turned to set him straight. "I know you told me months ago, even the night of, that it was you who set off all that business you placed in the Chantry. Are you going to try to convince me that Justice had nothing at all to do with getting you to the point that you were prepared to do it? That all of the nightmares and pain that threw themselves at you before you found yourself on that edge came from you?"

"I… no." Anders deflated, wondering where the mage was going.

"You haven't done anything monstrous, Anders. You've taken part in some awful things, sure, but with a demon playing on your emotions and twisting you all about, you can't take all of the blame. I don't even think you can take the lion's share of it, knowing who you are on your own. You'll stay with us, you'll continue to stand for other people as is your nature, and you'll atone for your part in things. But I'm not going to believe that a man whose calling and whose one great joy in life is caring for others should bear _that_ much blame for either of the events you're currently punishing yourself over."

Anders closed his eyes. He hadn't realized how much he'd needed to hear that, how strongly he'd needed some validation of who he was, now that _Anders_ was _all_ he was. "Thank you. I haven't said it yet, but I mean for everything. For Justice, for telling me off just now, for tolerating me while I've tortured myself since the Chantry, for reminding me what I am."

Sensing the coast was clear, Hawke stood and moved to the healer, who allowed himself to be held, now. "The others feel the same, you know. Fenris said once – not long before we got on the ship and found our way here, in fact – that you're not a mage. He said you're a healer, and he called you such while he was well aware of what Justice was trying to do to you."

"I wondered why he would have been so supportive. I guess, with the way things have gone since then, have I been thinking too hard about us not-"

Whatever question he had started to ask was interrupted by a knock at the door, which promptly eased open enough for Merrill's head to appear just above the knob. "Oh! Good! You're awake! They've got things ready for supper downstairs, and the two of you haven't eaten all day. Come on, then."

When neither man moved, the elf pushed her way through the door and took each of them by the hand, determined to get them down into the common room.

"One day," Hawke muttered, trying not to worry about what Anders had been about to ask, "I will learn how to lock a bloody door."

"Why?" Merrill immediately gasped. "I missed something dirty. I just bet I did."

Anders's laugh sounded a bit forced, even to himself, but he resolved to put his question away. It wasn't something he'd have been fully comfortable discussing when they were at their closest, and now… _If Davin's curious, he can ask me. After everything he's done, after everything I did, I can't ask for anything more._

* * *

"Good!" Carver reached over the table to clap the healer on the shoulder when he sat down opposite. "Glad to see you're up and about after all the excitement."

 _Oh, Maker. They've all seen it too, and they… they're letting it go, but I have to say something._ "Listen, all of you-"

"Spare us the gratitude, Anders. We seek no reward for acting correctly," Fenris offered no expression from the other end of the table, his chair leaned back against the wall.

"Don't mind him, Brother." Carver flashed a cheeky grin at the elf. "He's just testy it's him who lost his sword earlier. You sitting, Davin, or do you plan to lurk while you eat?"

"Lurking has potential," Hawke hooked an empty chair from the next table with his foot and scooted it over. If Anders seemed tense when he reached for his hand under the table, well… He'd have to get over it. He'd figure it out soon enough. "Any news from down south?"

"Not that we've heard," Merrill chirped in, "and the surly barkeep over there said I'm not allowed to ask him again until tomorrow morning. I swear you'd think people would have some sympathy for refugees anxious for word." Her expression said clearly that she'd kept up the lie they'd concocted, and was proud of having done so.

"That's all right, then," Carver's expression softened as he addressed the elf. "I'll ask him after we eat."

"Now, now, boys and girls, let's not irritate our host." Hawke fell silent as one of the barmaids came round with bowls of the evening's stew and a pitcher to top off the mugs. He grinned as she slapped his arm and told Carver to mind what he'd said.

Absently, Anders reached for his mug before deciding, "Perhaps I should stick with water, after-"

"Drinking water after ridding yourself of the one thing that stopped you becoming intoxicated for the better part of a decade almost sounds… blasphemous," Fenris suggested.

"Maybe I'm a weepy drunk, and don't want to saddle you with the baggage, eh?" the healer relaxed a bit, finding his place in the camaraderie.

"And you with a big strong man to be weepy _at_? Perish the thought," Carver scoffed, with a wink for Hawke.

"Well, Carver, if you're offering…" Anders let his voice trail off.

"I, er… What I meant was… Huh. Well played."

The chorus of laughter that followed was interrupted as the front door, situated against one of Minrathous's main thoroughfares, slammed open and knocked against the wall. A petite woman, clad in traveling leathers that matched her dark hair, paused half-inside the tavern, her arm extended and alight with raw mana and her voice carrying up the street. "Yeah, you heard me! Pinch the other one, go on! It'll be your short hairs that flare up next!"

"Doesn't she look familiar?" Merrill trilled, studying the features of the newcomer as she closed the door and extinguished the display around her hand.

"She does bear a striking resemblance to some in our acquaintance, yes," this from Fenris, who added, "in demeanor as well as appearance."

"I resemble that remark," Hawke grinned at the elf. "But it couldn't be… Could it?"

"Can and is, dear cousin," The woman had reached their table then, and without ceremony grabbed Hawke's tankard and drained it. "Been on a boat at the dock all bloody day with traders who are in and out of here every time they turn around. Not a one cowed by magical talent, so I was stuck waiting for the freight to shove off before they'd let me out on land. Danica Amell," Offering a hand to the elves and Anders, she then moved around to hug Hawke and his brother in turn.

"Lovely to meet you in person, Cousin, but how in the bloody Void did you find us here?"

"Oh, you're safe. Some gentleman you are, going straight for my story without buying me a drink first."

"I believe I just did," Hawke said, smiling to himself at the resemblance he heard and waving for a barmaid to see to his cousin.

"That was a loan. Anyway, I had an… interest," Danica paused, glancing at Anders, "in joining you here. Once I figured out where you'd turn up, it wasn't hard at all to find you. And now I come to see you, I think I _do_ recognize you from the Circle, even if we never did say hello to each other."

"If you're being sneaky for Justice's sake, Danica, you can rest easy. He was seen to this morning."

"What?" This from Danica and Anders, both equally shocked.

"Peace, Anders. Danica mentioned in one of her letters to me that the King had seen one of those Fade rituals go successfully, so when I started… plotting… I wrote her for details."

Anders visibly relaxed. _She's Davin's family, after all. I suppose it should have occurred to me to wonder how he'd know what was needed._

Danica remained displeased. "You couldn't have waited one bloody day? Dozens of times I've made Alistair tell me about that ritual. I wanted to _see_ one. _Damn_ it. Put off my bloody wedding for this trip, too, these things being as rare as they are."

"Wedding?" Carver sat up, intent on the idea of new family connections.

"Yes. Wedding. You know? Two people, they fall in love, and because one's cousin had to go and get the family nobility restored they're now expected to stand in front of all sorts of other nobility and spout off humiliating pap about their _feelings_ for one another instead of happily living in sin in the eyes of the Maker." Danica broke off to offer her thanks to the girl who set down a fresh bowl and mug for her.

Hawke burst out laughing as his cousin attacked her stew with vigor. "You say that like it's the last thing in the world you'd want to do, but I can see the happiness on you. Have to apologize if I missed a letter, but tell us. Who is the lucky bastard?"

Danica's eyes twinkled. She let her spoon fall back into the bowl and lifted her hand, drawing stunned looks from Hawke and Anders as she stretched a spark between her thumb and middle finger. "His Majesty has apparently always had a fondness for magical things."

Utterly scandalized, Anders spouted, "You're marrying the bloody King?"

"Now you see what I mean about the whole nobility thing. I _can_ now, and it's even a politically advantageous tie to the Free Marches. _And_ keep your voice down. Alistair will thank you not to get me assassinated while I'm away from Denerim."

Anders had the decency to look abashed for a moment before grinning. "They must _love_ you at court, all subtlety and grace."

"I can behave myself. Most of the time," she amended, digging into a bag fastened to her waist. Tossing a letter at Hawke, she offered, "Here. This stew and I need some quiet time. Read that. Oh! Where's Isabela? I have a few words for her after Wycome."

"Wycome?" Hawke asked, ignoring the message after pulling it out of its envelope. "We were there less than a day, re-provisioning."

"I _know_ that," Danica mumbled around a mouth full of stew. "I almost caught you there, and got stuck waiting another week for another ship headed this way. The harbormaster said you'd pushed off the docks not an hour before I arrived, you impatient bastard. I had to pretend my long-lost sister was on that boat to get him to tell me where you were bound. Now read."

Hawke turned his eyes to scan the letter, stopping short halfway through and giving it his full attention. It bore the official seal of the city of Kirkwall, which was cause for some alarm, but his surprise only grew as he read through it. Noting the familiar script at the end, he barked out a laugh before whispering, "I see she got my note," and passing the letter to Anders.

* * *

 _To His Majesty the King of Ferelden, Alistair Theirin_

 _Your Majesty,_

 _The City-State of Kirkwall in the Free Marches greets you warmly, and offers its congratulations on your impending nuptials to a member of one of our most highly regarded families. Should you wish to pursue that connection in hopes of cementing the tentative alliance proposed during your last visit here, please rest assured that you will find this office most amenable to any future overtures you may make in that regard._

 _Your offers of assistance with rebuilding, as well as your offer to extradite the mage Anders should he make himself known within your borders, are very much appreciated. I wish to make you aware of recent developments where these events are concerned. Evidence has come to light in this matter painting a much different picture than that which was immediately apparent. It has been proven to the satisfaction of my court, during consideration of high justice, that the role played by Anders in the destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry has been minimal._

 _We have entrusted our Champion to carry out full justice against those most responsible, and have entered a judgment of service against Anders, in absentia. We have reviewed evidence presented concerning his history, and have learned that he has only previously garnered attention through his endeavor to heal the ill and assist those in charitable need prior to any previous arrests by Chantry representatives. Provided that he continues in this fashion, we would not wish to trouble you with the expense of extradition. Rather, if he proves himself of use within your borders, we will consider our judgment satisfied on your word that he is performing works toward the greater good, regardless of the jurisdiction receiving the benefit thereof._

 _Yours in faith to the Maker,_

 _Viscountess Aveline Hendyr_

 _City-State of Kirkwall, Free Marches_

 **  
_Alistair, I thank you for the informal introduction you provided me on your recent visit. Should you feel the need to address me formally and conveniently forget the frippery of the "-ess" associated with my official title, it will not come amiss. Of course, "Aveline" works just as well. Don't worry about Bran. I'll sort him out sooner or later._   
**

* * *

"Viscountess? _Her_?" Anders tossed the letter on the table and let himself settle for a moment, before his mind snapped back to what Hawke had said before erupting again. "What do you mean, she got your note? When did you send her a note? What did you tell her?"

Hawke smiled, thinking more of his old friend's postscript than his love's reaction to the letter, and reached for his drink. Merrill scrambled out of her chair to grab the letter, and Carver tried not to look too uncomfortable reading over her shoulder.

Setting down his mug, Hawke answered, "I told her the truth. Smuggled a note into the post to her before we left at our first port, told her what our plans were. Didn't tell her where we'd end up, but I did let her know what our intentions with Justice were. Managed to be very convincing, without betraying any confidences I might add, in my belief that if Justice hadn't been involved, the whole thing never would have happened."

"I… But my role in it…"

" _Was_ minimal. We discussed that earlier."

Carver cut in to address Anders, passing the letter to Fenris and thinking briefly that only his brother would have taken the time to teach a fugitive former slave, friend or no, to read. Thinking of the conversations he'd either overheard or been part of on the ship, he knew he had the healer dead to rights. "That all sounds about right. Now you tell _me_ , Brother, if you wouldn't be healing and doing your good works regardless of your circumstances, and that doing so would be needed for you to believe you're setting things right."

"I… would be, yes, and I would feel that way. Well." Anders settled, focused on his mug, and contemplated. Now he was worried again about the distance that had sprouted between himself and Davin since everything that happened that night in Kirkwall. It was there, he couldn't be imagining it, but then halfway through the journey he goes and plants a bug like this in Aveline's ear. _Just what is going on in his head?_ Moving to a more immediate topic, he flagged Danica's attention. "How did you find us here?"

"As I said, got the bloke on the docks in Wycome to tell me where the _Siren's Call_ was headed, once I realized it had gone. Alistair… knows… Isabela, after all, and couldn't imagine she'd be out the day of all that business in Kirkwall without you lot on board. Where is she, anyway?"

"She's back out at sea," Merrill answered, still wistful over the departure of her friend. "It took us close to a month to get everything sorted for the business with Justice, and she would have stayed, but then she ran into someone in the market and had to go in a hurry."

At Danica's raised eyebrow, Fenris elaborated. "This _someone_ had paid a significant amount of gold for a number of slaves being transported here. Isabela grounded the ship carrying those slaves and freed them."

"Yep. Just like Alistair remembers her."

"But once you were in the city," Anders pressed, "how did you know which of the thousands of rooms to let we'd taken?"

"Hmm? You led me here, actually." Danica reached into one of her packs. "You're in the way of being family, so even before I asked Alistair had supplies for my trip rounded up and made ready for me. One of them was this."

Anders stilled as he saw what she held as her hand retreated. He didn't have to ask what it was; any mage trapped in a Circle for any length of time in their lives would recognize a cut glass vial, ringed with gold, glowing faintly with the color of the blood it contained. How many times had he thought of his phylactery over the years and wished he could lay hands on it? Now that it was here, within arm's reach, he couldn't gather the breath to ask what would become of it.

Danica raised it to eye level as if inspecting it, and then made a show of opening her fingers. She thought it could at least have made a more musical sound as it shattered on the tavern floor. Winking at the healer whose relationship to her cousin she knew well, she smiled broadly, held his eyes, and said, "Oops."

Grasping at enough sense for common courtesy, Anders stood. "I… Thank you, Messere Amell. Thank you. E-Excuse me." And he fled, up the stairs toward his private room.

"You're welcome, Cousin!" Danica called at his back as Hawke stood to follow the man. "And I told you, my name is Danica!"


	3. Favor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. If you would care to direct your attention to the left of the storycraft, you may observe one or two cock jokes floating past. Should those prompt you to read further, on the right of the storycraft you may catch a glimpse of a sexual encounter contained within this chapter.  
> 
> 
> * * *

Hawke closed the door behind him, taking care to lock it this time as he reflected on the earlier interruption. He wasn't going to beat it out of the man, but he knew there was something else, something more, at the fore of the healer's thoughts. _Plenty enough going on with that business downstairs; don't need him staring out the window to tell me he's a lot on his mind. Not about to let it get away this time, if I have any say in the matter._

Belatedly, he remembered where they were, now. The thin light passing through the window didn't offer much at midday, and for all that the furnishings pretended at being of a better class, they lent an almost eerie note to the dimness as the evening promised to give way to night. If it hurt him, just a little, to see Anders start when his wisp asserted itself into the pressing shadows, he'd have to set that aside. Unsure of himself, of what he should do, as he had been so many times since _that_ night, he took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"If what Danica dropped on the floor out there was what I think it was," Hawke said slowly, "you shouldn't need to worry about explaining what all that represents to you now. Phylacteries are a topic you've generally avoided, which gives me some idea how important yours would be to you. I think I can even follow your thoughts well enough. Somewhere between _'Holy Maker, that's freedom'_ and _'there went the last symbol anyone ever held of who I am,'_ yes?"

Anders's shoulders began to shake, and he looked around so the mage could see fully why. His eyes were spilling over, but the sound that eventually found its way past the hard ball in his throat was laughter. _He must think I've gone mad. He must know it, actually, after pinning my thoughts on the whole thing exactly._

Hawke stretched out over the bed then, scooting up a bit so he could reach down to the other side. Seizing on what he was after, he tossed it toward the window, leaving Anders to catch it reflexively. By the time the healer realized he'd gone for the pillow – not a happy memory, certainly, but a memory, a connection to who he was – the mage had crossed the room to stand in front of him. After a brief tug war against the neckline of the healer's robes, Hawke spilled out the old Tevinter Chantry amulet the blond man still wore, always beneath his clothes but always there after so many years.

"Freedom, Anders," Hawke spoke softly, "True freedom is holding on to your own symbols. It's the luxury of being, for yourself and no one else."

Anders dropped his gaze to the floor, wishing fervently that his voice didn't sound so small, so… terrified. "I don't think I remember how. To be me, I mean. Just me. Not Justice, not some rebel from the Circle, just me."

"I don't think that's particularly true," Hawke took the healer's hands where they clutched the pillow, pulling him back to sit together at the edge of the bed. _It feels right. I think. If it's not what he needs, Maker knows it's what_ I _need._ "Even if there weren't any signs for you, I could always tell where Justice ended and you started, after all, and I never really cared for _him_. You seemed to be getting the hang of it at table earlier, didn't you? Not sure I'll ever tire of watching people send Carver tripping over his own tongue."

"Ha! That's just it, though. Some of that, well… I want try not to dwell on the past, I want to try to live as I am now, and whenever I do that I end up looking like I'm not paying serious attention to the present. Or so I've been told, anyway."

 _I think that's the closest he's ever come to saying right out loud why he looks for a light approach. Is he looking for judgment, for the rest of us to throw up our hands over what he thinks is a personality flaw?_ "That was _you_ , wasn't it, keeping my company all those years? You never did match me, bad wit for bad wit, and I've a feeling I could learn a thing or two from my cousin now that I've met her." Before Anders could do more than laugh, Hawke made his point. "In any event, when it matters, you do take things seriously. Even if you're being a smartarse during a fight, you've never let your attention wander. You have no sense of humor to speak of when you're involved with healing. _Anders_ hasn't changed. He's just no longer at home to the Templars, and has taken the Home for Wayward Fade Creatures off his list of charitable credits."

It was no wonder to Anders, when his love reached for logic like this, that he felt so comfortable with the man. Almost before he could stop it, his interrupted question from before started to find its way out of his mouth. "But if you feel that way, why haven't we-"

Hawke turned, bringing a knee up onto the bed so he could face the healer. "Why haven't we what? I had resolved not to drag that out of you for curiosity's sake, but that's the second time you've brought it up. I can't help you if I don't know what you need, can I?"

"I keep stopping myself because it's probably not fair to even ask it of you. After everything I did, even before you told me why you went to the lengths you did to keep me safe, you've done nothing _but_ help me. You got me out of Kirkwall, you held me up every time I fell apart, you wrote to Aveline, you organized some grand ritual to get rid of Justice. You put up a bloody wisp just because it's going dark. What right do I have," Anders looked away, but not before Hawke caught the hint of color rising on his face, "to ask you for more, to ask why you haven't wanted to… touch me, since that night?"

Hawke blew out a breath. _Andraste's ass. I_ know _him. I shouldn't have put him in a position where he had to ask, but…_ "Anders, you've been so shaken, and at dinner today, that was the first real hint, the first solid sign we've had that you're you, and not some broken shell. I have wanted to, even if I only just fully remembered that you haven't liked to have serious discussions about this kind of thing, but I felt… I don't know, some part of me wondered if I wouldn't be taking advantage."

"I'm not made of glass, Davin." A whisper, when he wanted to shout, but he couldn't bring himself to be anything other than amazed at hearing yet another thing that had been done _for_ him. "And it's been nearly two full seasons. I can't believe you would… Well, yes, I can believe it of you, that you'd… deny yourself for me."

 _Perhaps not made of glass,_ Hawke cupped Anders's cheek and leaned in for a simple, if affirming, kiss. _But you are fragile._ "It hasn't been torture, I promise. I've still had you close, and that's been more comfort than I can say. And anyway, Isabela's pirates aren't the only ones who can take themselves in hand every now and again."

Anders knew he was blushing furiously, and hearing the delighted laugh it sparked in Davin, he couldn't bring himself to care. Not even when he realized his mouth was hanging open. If they could have this back, between them, it was worth a little color.

"And then there was the focusing exercise I ended up doing, just to stay in touch with the magic. Don't tell me you've never seen this." Keeping his hands on his love's, Hawke used his magic to send his wisp floating down in front of them. _A little psychic pressure here for a cleft along the bottom,_ he concentrated as he went, _stretch out a cylinder from there with a bit left for a knob on the top, check the orbs on the bottom end to make sure they've held, and there we are._ Shaking with laughter as he was, the crude no-longer-wisp bounced about in the air in front of them.

Face aflame all over again, Anders stared at the hovering shape, trying to find his voice. "Davin Hawke, that… that is a _vulgar_ thing!"

Hearing the impurity in the healer's indignation, Hawke raised a brow. "Please. Are you going to tell me you never got up to tricks like this?"

"I _never_ made a wisp look like that!" Chuckling now in spite of himself, reveling in it even as he thought he reminded himself of a naughty child back in the Circle, Anders couldn't take his eyes off the thing.

"Never, huh?"

"That's right." The healer slanted a look at the mage, determined to get some of his own. "I always used three wisps. Easier to get at the shape, that way."

Hawke howled in laughter at the thought, his own orb snapping back into its customary sphere and eventually blinking out entirely as his concentration broke. He could just _see_ it, and _that_ look on the healer's face made it even worse. Or better. Definitely better. Sobering a bit, Hawke captured Anders's lips again, and this time there was nothing simple in it. The press of his lover's mouth, giving way, just now and again, to a seeking tongue or a demanding breath. _Fun's fun, but I hope I'm reading him right, that he's ready to see he needs this, now._

"That question before," Hawke started, reaching tentatively for that first hook, that catch at his lover's throat that bound his robes about his neck. "That was an invitation, wasn't it?"

Swallowing, not sure what to expect, Anders nodded silently.

"Good. Because I think I've missed this as much as you have." The mage kissed an arc around the healer's neck, practiced fingers teasing the man to his feet just long enough to free the robes and send them cascading to the floor. Changing direction, hinting at his lover's throat with his teeth, Hawke pressed one hand to small of the healer's back and played a finger from the other up his spine.

Shivering, impossibly aroused, Anders worked at the releases of the other man's robes, his hands shaking with relief and anticipation, and something more. The thought was upon him in a heady rush that it had never before been just the two of them. Attentive or not, Justice had always been there. Above the nerves that had been provoked when he realized this new level of intimacy, he found himself straining, becoming almost painfully harder as the idea took hold.

"You're mine now. _Just mine_ , with no one else." The healer breathed in, finding himself in the scent of balsam and musk and a faint perception of sweat that rose from the mage's body.

His own robes falling to the floor, Hawke played his hands over his lover's hips, toying with the waist of his breeches, nudging him gently back onto the bed. "Then you'll have to take me, won't you? But not yet." He interrupted the healer's move to sit up, pressing his lips against his chest, biting gently and kissing possessively in a lazy line toward the catch of his trousers, all the while passing his fingers lightly over the man's tip.

Anders hissed his disappointment when the hand withdrew, unable to stop the small sounds of pleasure that escaped his lips at the light brush of Hawke's thumb, or the rough passing of fabric as he was freed from the confines of the last of his clothing. The mage continued his path downward, teasing his teeth along the length of the healer's arousal until he finally – _finally_ – took the man's tip into his mouth.

Holding, just there, almost losing himself in Anders's closeness, that scent faintly hinting of salt and pressing at his senses, Hawke enjoyed watching the blond man's pleasure as he explored with his tongue, dexterous and swift. He allowed his hand to travel the length of the man, from the base to his lips, excruciatingly slow and tauntingly quick, firm strokes and feather touches, his tongue never stopping, prompting a thrusting that was almost hesitant in its desperation.

When the healer's breathing grew ragged, Hawke retreated, holding firm at his base, neither man ready for an end. Anders smiled then, a gentle hand on his lover's shoulder, guiding him over and back onto the bed, repeating the lazy trail with his lips, down the man's body, easily discarding trousers and small clothes.

Hawke expected a similar tactic, crying out and arching in surprise as Anders's mouth closed instead around his balls, gently pulling, while fingers traced along his length. The healer split his attentions, never allowing the mage to settle on one particular sensation. Stroking slowed and gave way to the firm pressure of his tongue on that line between, and through it all he remained intent on preparing the man for what was to come. It was his turn, now, to close down at the base of Hawke's arousal, when he heard the gasping and felt the skin in his mouth begin a retreat.

When he broke away, he cautioned Hawke with a finger not to move as he found among their things the jar of salve that would prepare and enhance, tingle and preserve. Handing it to the mage, he leaned in from the side, favoring his lover with hungry and questing kisses, a starving man desperate to be sustained.

The unfamiliar ritual complete, Hawke let the jar fall from his hand and roll to the foot of the bed, absently registering the solid sound it made as it connected with the floor. And then Anders was there, pressing against him, inside him, taking him in his hand even as he began to move. Settling into a slow and easy rhythm, he stretched up to join his lips to the healer's even as the other man bent down to meet him. Again, and then again, they made that connection, cherishing every inch of contact after so much time apart.

Anders's pace sped, becoming ever more urgent, until he let go on a sigh, breathing in a way that sounded for all the world as if he had whispered, "Mine." Undone, Hawke joined the healer in release, shuddering under the man's touch and pulling him down for a final, promising kiss.

* * *

The pair woke together, tangled as they were among the sheets and each other, neither of them interested in starting the day just yet. Anders was the first to break, grinning broadly and quietly professing his love. Hawke returned the sentiment, thinking that this moment, above all others, made all the trial and hardship worthwhile. He had no illusions over whether there would be more struggle as Anders came to learn again who he was, but seeing the man whole and himself as he was this morning gave him no end of comfort.

 _And as long as I have little reminders like this, I can't ever forget why it's worth it._

Anders laid back and stretched, asking "So what now? I'd say I could stay like this forever, but that seems a bit rude, knowing we've a couple of elves with us. We can't stay here."

"No, I don't suppose we can. We'll have to get some news of the world before we make any firm plans, but I would at least like to see Danica back to Denerim. I hate thinking she came all this way on her own."

"And yet not at all surprised that she managed it. Something in your family line, Davin, I swear."

"Could have sworn the smart mouth bloomed on the Hawke branch of the family tree, too. You know the King must have had guards prepared to escort her and she ditched them somewhere. That's a story I can't wait to hear." Smiling fondly, Hawke pushed up and out of bed, foregoing breeches under his robes in favor of the warm weather they were sure to see again today.

"Good call on the trousers, love. And I suppose our first plan, before we consider conquering the world, ought to be breakfast."

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

The common room was nearly empty this late in the morning, the more permanent lodgers having already gone out in search of the day's occupations. This was fine with Hawke; privacy never hurt for any discussion involving mages, and it had occurred to him that if Danica had waited in Wycome for a week, she may have heard something. Slipping the barkeep a bit extra for keeping breakfast warm and tea on past the time he usually stopped serving, Hawke gathered up the tray laden with fried meats and breads and carried it back to their usual table where Anders was already seated.

"This just doesn't feel right," the healer grumbled a moment later.

Still nursing her last cup of tea, Danica nodded down the table. "Long as you acknowledge it, then you can be forgiven keeping us waiting half the morning while you lazed about."

"Pity," Anders spared a closed smile around a mouthful of sausage, "that I was talking about the fact that I haven't had to think too hard to identify the animal this sausage was before it came in here."

"Danica's just jealous she didn't get to lie about for half the morning," Hawke supplied. "Or she let her imagination run away with her after the tea started doing its job."

"I am not! And I _did_ not! I have my _own_ fond-of-magic blond man, thank you very much."

Carver, whose elbow had been planted on the table, caught his head in his hand and looked down to keep his cousin from seeing his reaction to her protests. Head turned as it was, he was able to see Fenris's hand casually move to rest on the grip of the sword leaning against the table next to him. This had happened a few times, generally when the elf thought they were in the presence of someone who could turn out to be a threat. From the look on his face, though, Carver would have said he was certain there would be danger now.

The elf's subtle shift to readiness didn't escape the notice of the others at the table either. Breakfast forgotten, Hawke stood casually, prepared to greet the woman of indeterminate middle age who had come in if she showed interest in their direction. As a matter of course, he reached out with his mind to test for power and found none, save for a single ward that gave no reaction to his questioning presence. Not a magister, then, but dressed as one, and guarded against something physical.

 _If she_ is _here for us, she'd have to know there are mages._ Hawke tossed a subtle shake of his head at Fenris, who acknowledged he took the meaning but didn't relax his pose in the slightest as the woman made her way toward them. _And of course she's here for us. I was having such a nice time, something had to break sooner or later. Wouldn't be my life, otherwise._

Stopping some few feet away from their table, the woman made a show of inspecting Fenris before addressing Hawke. Her tone carried a very complete definition of the arrogance Fenris had described years ago, when talking of the attitude of magisters in Tevinter. "I am Celessa, heir to Danarius, and you are in possession of a legacy that is rightfully mine. Before the others searching for the wonders painted upon his body discover you here, I bid you return him to my hand."

"Hello to you, too, Celessa," Hawke countered, calling attention to the lack of any sort of civilized greeting. _Although "civilized" isn't the word I'd use to describe myself right this minute, either._ "Fenris is the property of no one, and even under laws as imaginative as I suspect they must be here, you can't expect me to believe you can inherit something from a dead man that was never his to give."

"Yes, yes, the wayward slave. He is here now, and I will have him."

"If he gives himself to you, I feel sure you'll receive the point of his blade before anything else. Of course, you would know of his talents, warded as you are. Tell me, Celessa: how is it that one without a shred of magical talent such as yourself bears such strong protection against an assault?" Hawke was fishing. He didn't have a hook yet, but a woman as arrogant as she would give him one, sooner than later. Though he hadn't credited Merrill's progression with subtle shifts in dialogue as having gone quite so far, he was pleased to see her placing a hand on her staff along with the other mages.

"There are magisters in my employ who would have made Danarius appear an apprentice, and a pauper besides. Angering me is not wise, foreigner."

 _And there's where she overplayed her hand. If she's inheriting from Danarius, no way does she have the empire she's claiming._ "I have no intention of angering a petty, grasping slaver," Hawke's lips spread in a feral grin. "Scaring you, however, holds quite a lot of appeal for me."

Quickly, the mage reached for his power and completed his spell before Celessa could finish acting annoyed at the insolence he offered. It was clear on her face when the nightmare took hold. Flaring his power now, Hawke intensified her fear, solidifying the terror of her most hated dream until she started to quake. Just as she drew breath to scream, he reversed his power, draining whatever images had presented themselves to her and stepped close to whisper. "You've no idea who you've engaged, slaver. Leave us now, and consider your life the price of your silence."

When Celessa made no move to flee, Hawke barked, "Go!" At such close range, the shout prompted her into action and sent her scrambling back out the door.

In the thrumming silence that followed, under the glare of the barkeep who had cautioned them not to bring trouble, Merrill chimed, "Well, that's certainly telling _her_ , isn't it? I suppose we should gather our things and go before someone comes back to tell _us_?"

"Fenris?" Hawke glanced over at the elf.

"If that _was_ Celessa, she certainly holds enough sway here to make our lives difficult. She curried favor with Danarius successfully enough, as I recall, though I never met the woman."

"Damn. I'd wanted more than a day off a boat," Danica sighed. "Well, let's see what's departing. Cousin, if you'll handle that, I'll hit the market so we'll have some supplies in case whoever we hitch with can't be arsed to share. Let's get about it."

* * *

In the cramped hold of the freighter that left Minrathous just over an hour later, Danica regarded her cousin as he set out his wisp for light. "Glad to see you learned a thing or two from the letters I sent, I suppose. Not that beggars can be choosers, but would you mind telling us where we're headed?"

"Antiva City," Hawke didn't need to see her to know what was coming. "And that's the only destination we could get for another three days. No one else would take us for any amount of coin, so don't ask."

"Ah, well. I hear assassination is lovely this time of year. Let's start practicing not using my name now, shall we? And please remind me never to piss you off."

"Fair enough, Cousin," Carver added, looking a bit green under the blind rolling of the ocean. "That wasn't angry, though. That was just Tuesday. You're probably safer with us than you think."


	4. Confidence

So the rumor was true, then. He wouldn't have believed it, had he not seen the unforgettable Hawke stepping onto the dock and gazing around, his posture relaxing as he acquired his bearings in this new city. If the opportunity were to present itself, he would have to ask why the man would bring into the heart of Crow territory a companion whose head carried so high a price. Unless he missed his guess, it would be unwise to assume that only one such bounty existed, even if he knew of no others actively engaged with his quarry at the moment.

An unannounced visit with the harbormaster – who saw neither his arrival in nor his departure from the dockside offices – confirmed that precautions had been taken. By bribe or by threat, the Crows had seen to it that no passenger without the sign of their approval would be accepted aboard any departing ship in the near future. Of course, there were always captains willing to disregard the law of the land, as it were. But even the most hardened pirate would be aware that all ships must land somewhere eventually, and the Crows were very unforgiving of interference.

For such a comparatively tiny thing, the sole human woman seemed to fill much of the space around her. It was almost entertaining, watching as she approached porters with questions that turned into demands. She must have remembered where she was, then, having hailed the brute of a man who also bore some resemblance to Hawke to take her place in seeking direction. A brother, perhaps, and she his sister? Irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. He needed confirmation of nothing but her name.

She was clearly… irked, at present. Had she not barreled in as if she were the captain of the ship on which she had stowed away, she might have gotten the information she was after. From this distance, he could only assume her frustration stemmed from the cultural rejection of a woman taking command of her surroundings. It would be interesting to see if she softened her demeanor as they progressed into the city proper.

Once they began moving as a group, he observed them more closely, acquainting himself with the way they interacted with one another. The more he knew before he revealed himself, the better a position he would be in to see his purpose met, after all.

Immediately, he began to suspect they were aware there was a target among them. Of course the two warriors would leave their blades at rest. Carrying open steel into the home of the finest assassins in the world would hardly be wise, not to mention exhausting, large as those swords were. The other four, however, took their staves in hand. Outwardly it might appear that they were being used as support for a long walk, but the readiness for battle communicated itself clearly to one who knew how to look for such things. He had known Hawke and the blond man to be mages, and research suggested the human woman to be one as well. An extra user of magic, though… Any unknown quantity within the group could make things difficult.

From their formation as they moved through the city, his suspicion was confirmed. The two women walked side-by-side in the center of their little progression, the most shielded from almost every angle the streets allowed. The warriors walked shoulder-to-shoulder in the rear, constantly scanning the horizon for any hint of a threat, though they were very successfully casual in doing so. As expected, Hawke led the group, with the blond mage at his side.

So, they knew the woman bore the mark of the Crows. He hadn't intended to approach them on the street in any event. There was something to be said for finesse, was there not? Watching the group make their way into one of the more dangerous areas of the city, he took this opportunity to work out any dynamics he might play upon later.

The elven warrior seemed to take no more notice of his companions than he did of his surroundings. He moved well with the warrior at his side, but walking in step was a skill far more easily trained than any other of the arts of protection. His demeanor suggested that the precaution of their careful advance rankled, as if finding lodging could hardly be dangerous, even in Antiva City.

The blond man was laughing at something, prompting Hawke to turn a soft expression upon him. A joke, then, something at the expense of the human woman in the middle if the obscene gesture she allowed herself in response was any indication. And then Hawke's face relaxed further as he regarded the fair-featured man, a look that hinted at affection both old and new. Lovers, perhaps? It didn't look entirely like the novelty of a new affair, but there was something, to be sure.

The group never appeared to move in silence, as the elven woman always had something to say when the others did not. The human warrior, brute that he was, managed to appear at once softened and more vigilant when he regarded the elven mage. Ah. Interest. That spark of the unknown could be manipulated much more easily than the flame of the familiar, should the need arise. And arise it might; if it came to close quarters, this man would be the one to watch.

He noted that Hawke should most certainly not be underestimated. There were only a handful of inns in the city whose proprietors did not actively entreat with the Crows, and the man had managed to find one of them. Clever, very clever. But so was their watcher, and he was confident as he reached the door to the common room that his presence would not be known until he was ready to reveal himself.

The smell of spilled ale and something left to stew for just a little too long greeted him, and that momentary distraction was all it took for the door to close behind him rather more quickly than he had anticipated. He made no move to arm himself, registering the presence of the blade at his throat. Following its gleaming edge with his eyes to determine the source of the threat, he was almost surprised and unquestionably amused to find the blade held by the elven warrior he had so recently written off as inattentive.

 _Ah. The life of an assassin is never dull, no?_

* * *

Face still devoid of expression, Fenris tilted the blade of his sword to tap the chin of the elf who had followed them into the building where they hoped to lodge. "Consider: even with a greatsword, I can match your agility, _assassin_. Explain yourself."

"Very good! Very good! Not too hard, if you don't mind. I would bow to your prowess, but I have no wish to press my, aha, luck, as it were, against your blade. I am-"

"Zevran Arainai, and still up to old tricks," Hawke broke away from the group of mages who had brought round their staves, ready to fight. "And what is your business with the Crows at present?"

"Concluded, two days ago. For now, anyway. I am no more a Crow now than I was when we met on the Wounded Coast. I am, in fact, here to warn you of the danger to your lady companion, but a public venue is most improper for such an intimate discussion."

Anders began whispering at some length in Danica's ear when she started at hearing the elf's name. Leaving the healer to bring his cousin up to date, Hawke pressed for more. "And you're willing to give your word that we're safe here?"

"From me? Certainly. From the legion of assassins who make their living on rumors of who has arrived from the hold of which boat? I cannot say, which is why I am here."

Hawke turned slightly, keeping half an eye on the assassin, while Danica consulted quietly in his own ear. Nodding, he stepped back and let his cousin take the lead. "I'll hear you out, then. But Fenris is coming with us, so you can leave your intimacy at the stairs."

Zevran sighed, more for effect than feeling. "Fine, fine. Let me see to our privacy and security, and then we will retreat from the public's so prying eye." Freed from the blade at his neck, the elf approached the bar and without hesitation launched himself over it, disappearing briefly into the kitchens beyond. When he returned, he pinned the barman against a corner and sparked a heated exchange in rapid Antivan that ended with the landlord handing over two keys and sweating visibly.

The assassin scrambled back over the bar and tossed one of the keys to Hawke. "A larger room for the men. Sadly, I suspect we will be forced to give the other room over to the ladies once we no longer have need of privacy for our discussion. Your safety is also now assured when eating and drinking in this establishment, though I will understand if you prefer to wait until I can inspect what you are served. Ah. And baths will be drawn in two hours' time. You will enjoy the facilities available for bathing, even here. One never knows, after all, when one will be called upon to serve a scary Crow, current or former."

Leading the way up the stairs, Zevran laughed to himself as he heard Danica speculate on the presence of olives and rosewater in the bathing rooms.

* * *

Merrill joined the assassin and the would-be queen in the room that would be given over to the women, content to divest herself of the packs she carried and rest against the head of the bed she claimed. As Fenris remained alert, though, so did she. Her hand rested only inches from the staff she'd propped against the table between the room's two small beds.

"Such distrust!" The assassin clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "I am torn between relief at your companions' commitment to your safety and despair that I have not befriended you as easily as I did your betrothed."

"My betrothed left me with the impression that it took most of the Blight for you to worm your way into his good graces."

"Too true, too true. You Fereldan noble types are very hard to win over. At any moment I can expect to be overcome with the need to lose the burden of my social failure in your so magical-"

"The only thing magical about my bosom, Zevran, would be waking up in the morning and finding out I actually _had_ one."

"Ha! Most excellent, even if my honor demands I point out the disservice you do yourself in your jest."

In the early days of their courtship – before either of them had acknowledged that it _was_ a courtship – Danica had dragged any number of Blight stories out of Alistair. She had almost made it her mission, determined as he was not to trouble anyone else with the weight of the war in spite of the fact that it was very much what he'd needed to do. Although according to him, if the Blight and being made King hadn't forced him to grow up, he'd have been whining about it to anyone who would listen. If he was surprised at his maturity, she'd been equally amazed at his talent for turning things around and pulling out of her the tales from her youth in the Circle she'd sworn would go with her to her grave.

 _Time and place, woman, and this isn't either._ "So there's… interest… in seeing me dead?"

"Always," Zevran inclined his head, satisfied that he'd given enough history to reinforce his connection to Alistair in her mind. "Whenever one aligns herself with a powerful man, many will see the benefit of using her against him. The Crow I killed two days ago was prepared for your arrival. I have heard nothing to indicate there are others after you yet, but it will only be a matter of time. Even for one night, I would not consider you to be safe here."

"Great. Well, we'll have at least one night, restful or not, in an actual bed before we have to go begging for space on another ship."

"I would not advise returning to the docks. The Crows, or those who remain of the Crows, still hold great influence in Antiva, particularly here. You will not find a captain willing to take you. My advice is to remain vigilant tonight – at least two of us alert, always – and continue toward your destination over the roads, as soon as you can gather supplies."

"Of course. It can't ever be easy. Is there a safe way to get a letter out of Antiva?" Danica stretched and leaned back against the wall. Loathe as she was to delay her arrival home, she had to admit she'd seen enough of cargo holds to last her for quite some time to come.

"Openly addressed to the King of Ferelden?" Zevran lifted a brow, but managed to stop the snort before it made itself known.

"Of course not. We have friends who see to our communications when one of us is traveling without the other."

"Then once it is written, leave it to me. I will see it on its way. Shall we join the others for a meal, and perhaps a rousing game of Spot the Poison?"

* * *

The tavern staff was accommodating, if not outright solicitous, in seeing to the comfort of the assassin and his friends, to the point of having food and drink delivered to the larger room they'd taken for the men to share. Hawke thought that whatever the elf had threatened him with, it had to have been inventive. True to his word, Zevran inspected everything the maids brought up, locking the door behind the last of them to leave so he could recount his conversation with Danica during the meal. Chairs in short supply, some of them perched on the edges of beds to eat, Fenris opting to keep to his feet.

Some were more pleased than others at the thought of a trip overland. Merrill cooed over the beauty she expected to find on the road in Antiva this time of year. The rest were more practical; of the lot of them, only Fenris had any experience riding, so the journey would have to be made on foot.

"My legs already hurt just thinking about it," Hawke griped at his empty plate.

"Should be safe enough to head down the coast, if we skirt the larger cities here in Antiva." Carver patted at the pouch on his belt and nodded. "Coin doesn't seem to be that large an issue for us just yet. We ought to be able to find another ship between here and Ostwick, eh? Assuming Denerim is where we're headed?"

"This might sound odd coming from me," Anders paused, testing the thought in his head before he finished it out loud. "But after what Aveline had to say in her letter to the King, do you think we should stay on to Kirkwall and take ship from there?"

No one spoke for a moment, but before the healer could make his point, Zevran jumped in. "The news has not carried your name for some time now, my friend."

Anders pressed on as if the elf hadn't spoken. "It might be safest off the docks for a while. And you all shouldn't miss the chance to see anyone who might want to see you, even if they don't want anything to do with me. And I… think I need to see it. I need to know it's getting better, before I can decide where I should end up doing whatever those good works are that people keep going on about. I'm not dwelling on it, and I won't, but… I need to see it."

Carver nodded, setting his plate aside. "I'll agree with that. I wouldn't have suggested it, and I wouldn't want to go if Anders doesn't, but if it's what he needs…"

"Then it's settled." Danica waved away whatever Hawke had been about to say. "Ostwick to Kirkwall can't be much more than a week on foot. It won't kill any of us to stay on the road that much longer."

Any further conversation was cut off with the muffled announcement through the closed door that the bathing room had been prepared. The expected two hours not having passed, Zevran insisted on taking a look around before anyone left to wash off the journey. He returned satisfied with the arrangement, reporting that the bathing room contained a number of private stalls – as he expected, in a city catering to Crows used to certain luxuries – and that it had no windows. The assassin volunteered to stand at the door, though he failed miserably at keeping the leer out of his voice when he suggested they take their weapons in case he had to call an alarm.

Since the setting called for lighter conversation, Hawke finally managed to ask Danica about guards, pushing for details about how she came to be traveling alone. He wasn't at all surprised to hear that she hadn't wanted to use Crown resources to chase down a family connection whose location she couldn't know for certain, and laughed at her retelling of the argument with Alistair over whether a handful of guards constituted "government involvement in personal affairs."

In the end, the decision had been made for them. Leftover banditry in the bannorn had become something more organized and malicious, requiring a strong enough military response that guards weren't readily available. Though it hadn't been an easy realization, they had both eventually agreed that she should go, guard or not. The ritual she'd wanted to see was just window dressing; she was still bent over missing it, but conflicting reports over the events in Kirkwall had her worried over the family she'd never thought she had. They'd decided she would go, and do her best to stay anonymous while she was alone.

Once the last of the dirt from the voyage had been scrubbed away, the lot of them dressed for comfort – plain trousers and shirts, as they weren't going anywhere overnight. Back in the larger room they'd rented, plans were sketched out for supplies for the trip the following day, and Zevran suggested a watch rotation for the night.

"You weren't kidding when you said it's not safe here, were you?" Danica's brows winged up. She found herself impressed that he was taking this so seriously.

"Before the Hero of Ferelden fell to the Archdemon, he extracted from me a promise to watch over those in his care, in my way. My word to him is one of few topics on which I have no sense of humor to speak of. I would be honoring my oath poorly if I allowed harm to befall Alistair's betrothed when I could have prevented it." Zevran kept his usual light tone, but the significance of this confession wasn't lost on anyone.

It was Hawke who inclined his head and offered simple gratitude. Only after the moment passed did he ask if Zevran had heard news from Kirkwall or the rest of the world.

"Indeed. There is unrest the world over. Some weeks ago, the mages in Orlais rebelled against their Circle. Mere days before you arrived, the city was alight with news that the Ferelden Circle had gone much the same way. No news of cost or casualty, however; only word that mages no longer seem inclined to submit to the Chantry's dictates concerning their living arrangement."

Danica finally broke the silence. "About bloody time, I say."

Hearing the bitterness in her voice, Hawke couldn't help but wonder about her time in the Circle. It amazed him that he hadn't thought of it before, knowing what he did of Anders's own past. Now wouldn't be the time to ask. _There may never be a time to ask. If I hadn't seen the pattern before, I'd damn well be picking up on it now._

Strangely, it was Fenris who suggested that things must not be too dire. He reasoned that if demons had been involved in either location, that news would have spread even faster than the rebellion.

Though Zevran shared news and gossip on other subjects as well, no one mistook Anders when he finally came to a decision and broke his silence. "Good. _Good_."

"Anders?" Danica's interest had been caught. If she hadn't heard about the Chantry business, she would have been surprised that the Anders of her vague recollection – all jokes and pranks and cavalier disregard for Circle rules – would have such strong feelings on the matter. _Then again, he was in the same Circle I was…_

"I was thinking for a minute that I should be horrified," the healer explained. "And maybe I am, just a little, that something I did could have sparked this kind of conflict. We all know the costs of war by now. But never mind freedom. I don't think mages could ever stop being victims if they don't push back and refuse to allow it anymore. It helps, it really does. I can take the blame, and the guilt, and the horror at what I've done, if it means there's a chance that anyone coming into their talents won't have to see the things I've seen."

"Then we'll go to Kirkwall," Hawke felt better now about the idea. "And from there to Denerim, and we can use whatever news we gather on the way to figure out what we'll do after Danica's safely back at the castle."

"I was right, earlier. I don't want to live in my past. I don't want to let it rule who I am now. But that doesn't mean I can't let it – all of it – be the reason for what I do in the future. All the healing, and whatever else we get up to. It's worth it, isn't it?"

Hawke had a moment to be pleased at hearing all of this from Anders. _Didn't take him long to find whatever he was looking for in himself. Holding onto it will be the tricky part, now, especially as we start to see reactions to mages' freedom on the road._ Almost immediately, he had to worry about the balance of this new frame of mind, when Fenris asked for clarification.

"You have hinted at abuses in the Circles in the time we've been acquainted, Anders. I will not deny some trepidation about mages having absolutely no oversight, though I will bow to the experience of those present if you say breaking the chains that exist is a positive thing. Is it truly so severe that mages should be prompted to fight their way out of it?"

Even as Danica offered an emphatic _yes_ , Anders stood. "If we're going overland together, you'll see it eventually anyway. Here's your answer." Saying nothing more, the healer removed his shirt and turned fully to walk toward the bed he and Davin would share, keeping his trousers and stretching out on top of the bedclothes.

He didn't need to say more. Not when giving the room his back had revealed a web of scars from waist to shoulder, remnants of countless lashes with whatever had come to hand.

It would be some time before any of them spoke again. Hawke followed the healer to the bed, stretching out beside him and simply being near. Danica retreated to her room, Merrill at her heels. Zevran and Carver stepped out to the hall to set up for the first watch. After a long moment of startled admiration, Fenris took up his sword and joined them.


	5. Enmity and Mercy

Travel had gone swiftly, even if Zevran had set a grueling pace on their first day out. The assassin had wanted to see them as far from Antiva City as possible within that first day, that instinct confirmed as necessity when they were set upon not an hour into their journey. He judged them capable after that fight, marking with approval Danica's late entry into the battle as she spent some time evaluating how she might best fit into the pattern already established among the others.

Once camp had been set that evening, as much distance gained as they could manage, Zevran had bid his farewells. The attack outside the city proved the involvement of more than one Crow cell in hunting down rumors of Danica's presence, and he felt they would be best served if he returned to root them out before they could mount a pursuit.

If he'd had any regrets, it was his confession that he was never one for long and tearful goodbyes. Though he did smile several times as he made his way back to the city, recalling Danica's teasing as he left that she just might have liked him enough by now to make her bosom available for weeping.

A week on the road had seen no more difficulty than a few handfuls of highwaymen. Cresting a hill and seeing a village in the valley below, the group held hope that they had passed out of Antiva and into the Free Marches. Even as close to the border as they surely were, the design and build of the structures was visibly different from the villages they'd left behind. Danica's untried schoolgirl Antivan had only helped so much, and they were nearly desperate for a chance to trade in a language that would let them get their needs across.

"It looks so peaceful from up here, doesn't it?" Merrill had almost been reluctant to leave the view as they pressed into the valley.

"That it does," Hawke called back, having already started his descent down the vaguely winding road. "Don't know about the rest of you, but I'll feel a lot more peaceful after I've had a chance at a good meal and maybe cadged a bath in something other than a freezing stream."

Companionable silence followed them down the incline and into the village, where any thoughts of peace fled their minds entirely. Even before they reached the broad expanse at the heart of the settlement, they heard a few stray shouts mixed with outbursts of voices clamoring to be heard. Gesturing for the others to follow, Hawke skirted behind one of the buildings on the square, passing its neighbor, stepping out onto open ground away from the crowd and the two small groups they had gathered to watch.

Of the group nearest them, all dozen or so were armed with blades, but only the one currently shouting at the party opposite wore any armor to speak of. "You can't tell me you're letting her stop here, Cavan! Not after what she took part in at Starkhaven, and not after what she did here!"

"This is her home, Ardan. As it has ever been." Temper met with calm reason, from the elder of the two men shielding what looked to be two women from the sight of the aggressors. A quick glimpse as bodies shifted gave the impression that one of the women might have been wearing robes of the sort one would expect to see on a Circle mage.

"The Circle at Starkhaven burned to the ground, you old fool! After the evil she did here before they took her off to that place, you can't believe she won't do the same to whatever home you give her now! It was only a wonder she didn't melt all his jewelry, or we'd never have identified my brother after she finished with him!"

Hawke traded glances with the other mages, acknowledging as they did the fall of another Circle of Magi. Danica and Anders both bristled at the man's – Ardan's – implied assumption that Starkhaven had even _been_ a home for this mage they'd yet to see.

Now the man beside the elder spoke up, his protective tone hinting at some familiarity with the woman he guarded. "You couldn't defend him to us then, and it's not going to work now! Doesn't take a scholar to figure out why his body was found with trousers around his knees!"

Ardan, incensed over the accusation of his dead brother, lifted his sword and started his rush forward. Hawke had barely managed to lift his hand in silent instruction to intervene when he saw Fenris dash into the square and felt an electric gathering of power beside him. As the warrior's form faded under the flash of the markings on his skin, Merrill released a static charge from her outstretched hand, sending it home into Ardan's shoulder and spreading it to stun those nearest him.

Carver pushed ahead and joined the fray, warning in his commanding voice that the lot gathered here wouldn't corner the girl the same way twice. Left at range, Hawke and Danica spread the distance between them and let loose bursts from their staves whenever it was tactical, dazzling fire and ice striking against simple cloth and skin.

Seeing the other mages' solid control over the battlefield, watching them harass away those who would close in on the warriors, Anders chose to hold himself back, his hand alight and ready with healing magic. Though he scanned the entirety of the battle, sweeping his eyes over allies and noncombatants alike, his attention focused after a short time on Carver. Four of the poorly matched swordsmen had managed to circle around him, and the healer began to anticipate trouble.

Seeing Carver's predicament, Merrill targeted the man behind him, her power drawing him down into sleep before he could strike at the warrior's unprotected back. Even as Carver managed to sweep the feet out from under two more with the flat of his weapon, he felt the bite of the third's sword as it sliced into his shoulder. His dominant arm disabled, he was barely able to keep hold of his heavy blade as it fell to the ground, taking him to his knees with it.

Anders wasted no time. Almost before the warrior's knee touched the ground, he felt the seeping of blood onto his arm slow, the strength returning to his grip as skin wed skin and the wound closed. Without room to maneuver as his last attacker had closed the distance between them to strike, Carver surged up, slamming the heavy pommel in his hand into the man's chin, sending him reeling. Turning to survey what was left of the fight, he tossed a nod and a grin as thanks to the healer.

As Ardan was disarmed and fell before Fenris, the final three standing forgot their caution and advanced as one toward the elf. Raising his blade to a defensive posture, Fenris felt a wave of heat pass from behind him, an orb of flame that flared on the ground ahead of the three, igniting the handful of weeds sprouting in the dirt and throwing the attackers off their stride.

Hawke moved toward the melee now, fire still dancing about his lifted hand, calling out to them as they steadied themselves. "That one was a warning! Next one lights up your breeches!" Taking in the sight of their defeated companions, the three fled, the unfamiliar swords they'd held clattering to the ground behind them.

Satisfied, Hawke extinguished the flame at his hand and gestured at the fallen. "Anything fatal?"

The crowd, realizing they'd gotten much more of a show than they'd anticipated, chattered among themselves in surprise when Hawke showed pleasure at taking no lives.

"Their ringleader, however," Fenris gestured at Ardan, the last he'd cut down, "is severely injured. The wound on his leg may become fatal if it is not addressed quickly."

"Is that so?" Anders was plainly speaking to Ardan as he advanced. "Here, then, is the evil your mage represents."

The fear on Ardan's face gave way to simple, stunned shock as Anders passed his hand above the gash in his leg, once slowing the bleeding and twice to close the wound. After some small amount of struggling, he finally accepted the healer's outstretched hand and took aid gaining his feet.

Now the mage who had been shielded stepped out and around, against the protests of the woman trying to hold on to her. "No, Mother, I'll be fine, and this needs to be done." With a nod to Anders and another to Hawke, who had begun seeing to the lesser injuries incurred in the fight, she channeled her magic and began the grueling work of waking those who had fallen.

 _Bloody amazing_ , Anders thought as he watched her move among those who would have attacked her, _that she can forgive so completely, when they hadn't even bothered to learn that she's a healer._

The fallen rioters tended, the young woman took Anders's hand in greeting. "Thank you. I am Sela, and as you've seen, if we are to see peace for our families, we must learn to forgive even as we ask it of those who fear us."

Without any further comment, Sela joined her mother and the man who was evidently her father, leading them out of the square. Only after the whispers in the crowd died down did the elder – Cavan – step forward to offer his greetings.

"Travelers! Welcome to Charity! Can't say you've found us at our most charitable, today, but it would please me to try fixing that for you while we think on what to do with this lot."

Hawke stepped over to handle introductions, learning that Cavan was in the way of being the village elder – "but don't say that too loud, after I've just managed to get them sorting out their own squabbles even if it took me thirty years to do it."

Charity was small enough, and far enough out of the way, that it didn't boast proper lodging for rent, though the cooks at the village's one tavern were known for a good fry-up whenever someone wasn't inclined to shift for themselves. Cavan insisted that he would speak to his brother, who offered rooms occasionally in the large house he'd built up the way, in payment for the aid the group had rendered.

No sooner than they'd asked for food, a lad introducing himself as Cavan's great-nephew footed it into the tavern to let them know it had been arranged – three rooms were there for the taking, and they should make themselves at home whenever they were ready. At the same time, Anders's attention was drawn to Fenris, most specifically to the difficulty the elf had lowering himself into a chair.

"Cracked rib," the warrior allowed, "though I am certain it is not broken."

"Bloody Void, Fenris, why didn't you say something sooner?"

Fenris hesitated, remembering the days when he would have scoffed at the idea of magic being used for him. "I… have no wish to see you expend the energy it would take to mend bone."

"And you have all the time in the world to lay about in a stranger's home while it takes care of itself, have you? Up you get, and no arguments." The healer asked the elder's relation to show them back to the house. They could always come back for food when the elf could sit properly to eat it. "I mean it, Fenris. I'm not taking 'no.' On we go."

"That's that solved, then. Cousin, a word?" Danica picked up the plates that had just been set in front of her and Hawke, moved to a table across the room, tilting her head in invitation for him to follow. Left with no choice but to follow his supper, he plucked a couple of mugs off the tray coming round and went off after her.

* * *

The mistress of the house had some trouble getting around, but she insisted on helping the elf and the healer into one of the rooms they kept for travelers. Two beds, looking more inviting than Anders could have imagined, stood in opposite corners of the room.

"We'll have to apologize for your comfort, gentlemen, but the room down the end of the corridor has only one bed, though it is large enough for two." Purposefully, the elderly matron reached into a cupboard under a basin and withdrew a towel, setting it along with a pitcher of water on a table next to one of the beds. "Twice now I've heard all about how you're one of those magickers that set the village lads to rights, so I can't imagine what else you might need. Just call down the stairs if there's anything and I'll see you get it."

Anders was always unsure of himself in the face of freely given hospitality. "You needn't worry. Long as we've been on the road, some of us are accustomed to sharing space, and we appreciate that you're offering it." _No point in weaving a tapestry to show the woman just how much a couple of us share. Healing now, thinking about safety and privacy we haven't had in Maker knows how long later._

Their hostess retreated, assured they'd call if they needed anything. Even if Fenris had become more comfortable with magic, his fierce independence hadn't faded in the slightest. As Anders reached out with his power, testing the condition of bone and muscle, he didn't comment on what he was doing.

 _And who said I haven't a clue as to bedside manner? I certainly know not to mouth off to an elf with a giant sword who prefers to look after himself._

Satisfied that it was only a crack, and only one rib, Anders slowly opened the channel of his magic, feeding it carefully into the bone. Not only was this kind of healing delicate, requiring a great amount of focus and control besides the energy, he didn't want to bring too much of his magic in contact with any of the markings that wound their way around the elf's body. Healing didn't generally interact painfully with the lyrium, but he hadn't ever had to knit one of the warrior's bones.

As the pain faded and it became evident to Fenris that the magic was receding, he observed that the healer's face had taken on a sheen of sweat during his effort to repair the injury. Anders's free hand was trembling slightly as well, for all that the hand engaged in casting was steady. Uncomfortable at the severity of exhaustion taken on his behalf, he felt the need to comment.

"You have developed a remarkably gentle touch, for one who has been treated so harshly."

Anders slanted his eyes to meet the elf's as he closed off the trickle of his power. "I'm… not sure I would have ever associated one with the other."

"I apologize for that, sincerely," Fenris cursed his lack of tact. "I meant it as a compliment, nothing more. You were correct, that traveling together as we have, the marks on your body have of necessity made themselves known to the rest of us. I can only apologize again for my… preoccupation."

"I'll take the compliment. If you have a question, Fenris, ask it. I can't promise you an answer, but neither will I regret hearing you."

"It is less a question than an observation. I have recalled that in Tevinter, even the lowest among the slaves would not have been marked in that way, as what is owned can be given away. I simply find myself… reflecting on how well your character is represented by your continued occupations with easing the pain of others."

Dressing himself again, Fenris thought the silence that followed was to be expected, though he may never know if it was his startling admission or the compliment itself that stopped the conversation. Belatedly, he took note of the healer's difficulty keeping his feet. After indulging in a particularly inventive Tevinter curse that he'd kept over the years, he grabbed the healer's arm and placed it over his shoulders.

Even as exhausted as he was, Anders would have expected some hesitation as the elf guided him down the hall, keeping him from falling until they'd reached the large bed in the room they had assumed he and Davin would share. "This probably isn't a good idea, you know. I'm still starving."

"Then I will bring you whatever fare can be transported from the tavern. It is the least I can do, as you insisted upon pushing yourself past your limit in removing my discomfort."

"If healing total strangers out for my friends' deaths is cause to declare Care for Anders day, remind me to do it more often."

Fenris paused at the door, smiling softly at the grace with which the healer took aid. _Certainly better than my own graces._ "You should consider, Anders, that your open act of forgiveness toward our assailants did more to resolve the battle for the young mage we rescued, both today and in the future, than any measure of strength in our counterattack would ever have managed."

"Ha. I can't say as I was thinking about it that clearly at the time." _More bent on proving them wrong._

"No, you would not have considered the outcome in the long term, because healing is more than simply what you do, Anders. As we had opted not to kill any of the men set upon us, your better nature compelled you to restore them. We may encounter more fear, and we may find that it is not so easily dispelled as it was today. Should that occur, have a care that you remember what you _are_. Rest, now. You will have a meal shortly."

For the life of him, Anders couldn't think of a thing to say in response. He could only stare as the elf retreated into the corridor and disappeared down the stairs.

* * *

"Your man did us credit today, I'm sure," Danica dropped the plates she carried onto a table in the corner as Hawke closed the distance to join her.

"If they'd needed killing, he'd have been there to help us with it. Never mind that it was the right decision for the village, Anders can't stand to see a wound untreated."

Danica inclined her head at the point. "True enough, and also why I never bothered with the healing magics. I'd end up in a position where the right of the thing called for me to heal a man who'd try to defend a bleeding rapist, and one of us wouldn't survive that encounter. Don't give me that look; you heard every bit as much as I did what caused that poor girl to find her power."

"Perhaps you should learn to heal, then. The process itself can be quite painful, if you need to get some of your own in while doing the right thing besides."

"Ha. You know it amazes me that he can be as he is now. Everything I've managed to read about those who survive the ritual you lot robbed me of seeing suggests they should be changed. Maybe he's not as much of a smartarse as I remember thinking he was back in the Circle, but he seems… himself."

"The smart mouth goes with the healing, Cousin. I think it's just part of the _Anders_ outlook on life."

"Damned amazing is what it is. I knew they'd get out the strap now and again for mages, but seeing what he showed us before we left Antiva? I'm prepared to believe some terrible things, especially coming out of the Circle in Ferelden, but I never would have thought it could be that bad. How he hasn't gone stark raving is completely beyond me."

The pair continued eating in silence, contemplating their very divergent perspectives of the man, before Hawke tested the waters. "You seem much the same, though. I recall telling Anders some time ago that I could probably learn a thing or two of wit from you. I can't imagine you wouldn't have been lining up to run away with him every time he tried."

"I'll admit to being envious of the positive attitude that seemed to follow him, even if I'm just now getting an appreciation for what might run underneath it. But, no, I learned well and early to toe the line in that place, and some of those Templars had ways of reinforcing that lesson years later. Shame there weren't more than a handful of Chantry puppets with the balls to be openly decent to the mages."

"Kirkwall was much the same, I gather, from the accounts we got off the mages we shuffled out of there every chance we got."

" _You?"_

"Me. Anders, too. And Carver, from the other side, although at the time you could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw him getting involved that way. Even a smartarse can be pointed in the right direction." Hawke winked.

"Apparently," Danica marveled at what she was hearing. For many long years in the circle, before wisdom eventually handed her the cap of the cynic, she had dreamed of having family to run away to. Come to find she actually _did_ have family, and here they'd turned out to be the sort who would have gotten her out if they'd known she was there. Still… "Not every mage can claim the good fortune of knowing as early and as well as Anders did who he wants to be."

The diminutive mage patted her cousin's hand and left to sort out her bed for the night, tossing a grin to Fenris as she passed him at the door.

* * *

The large table seemed almost empty to Carver, the rest of the group having scattered for various purposes. If Merrill hadn't spoken, he might not have known she was still there, as much effort as it took sometimes for him not to stare.

"Well, that was certainly exciting! Who would have thought that a little village like this would have so many swords just lying about for people to play with? I must say, that was _very_ brave, the way you stood up to all four of those men at once."

"I, ah…" _Blast. Why do the words never come out right when she talks to me?_ "I didn't exactly… plan any of that."

"Well of _course_ you didn't, silly! Nobody _plans_ on getting into a fight with a bunch of rowdy farmers or whatever they were. That's why it was so brave to face them down like that."

"But you helped, Merrill." _There. Let's talk about_ her _, not me._ "It wasn't as if I did it on my own. I had Anders to heal my shoulder, and it would have gone very poorly if you hadn't put the one behind me to sleep."

"Oh! Well, yes. That's just something I like to do to people who try to stab my friends. It's always so _interesting_ , too, seeing the looks on their faces when they wake up in a puddle and can't remember how they got there."

Carver turned his attention to his supper, at a complete loss for words. It never failed to amaze him, how she could take just about any battle they'd seen together and squeeze out some kind of positive.

"It's all right to talk to me, you know," the elf said into the stretching silence. "I even like it when you do. Did you know you were the first person in Kirkwall to help me with anything or to be my friend?"

"What? No, I… That can't be right, can it? Davin…"

"Oh, yes. Hawke helped me get there and all, but it was you who visited right away, and you fixed my roof, and it was you who taught me how to do the marketing and how to tell I was being cheated. You helped me learn how to live in a city, when I'd only ever lived in the forests, before."

"I… Ah, I guess I never really thought that it might have been hard for you, that it was your first time… In a city. Your first time in a city."

"But it wasn't very hard at all, because you were there to make sure it wasn't. Elgar'nan, Carver, why are you so _red?_ It shouldn't embarrass you to hear what a good man you are. You must already _know_."

At the edge of his vision, Carver saw his cousin leave. How he managed to be both grateful and disappointed when Fenris stepped up to the table and mentioned food for Anders, he'd never know. Volunteering to take the food himself – "after all, I owe him one, too" – Carver gathered some breads and cheeses and made for the house they'd share for the night.

* * *

Much later, Hawke found the room meant for him. Their hosts had insisted on drawing baths for everyone, in spite of the trouble it took to manage everything up the stairs, and only reluctantly accepted help from Carver and Fenris in getting things arranged. After stashing his clothes in the pack he carried for laundry to be washed, he slid into bed behind Anders.

"That's… not your hand, Davin."

"Should I congratulate the healer on his knowledge of basic anatomy?"

Shaking with sudden laughter, the healer turned his head, shifting his eyes to take in the mage's moonlit profile. "Just a shame I can barely stand after all the healing today. We finally get a room to ourselves with reasonably little chance of violent interruption, and…"

He broke off as Hawke shifted up and captured his mouth in a kiss that was anything but chaste, and actually worked up the energy for a shiver as the man whispered in his ear things that could be done in the morning, after they'd slept and before anyone else knew they'd woken.

"Right, love. I'll drop right off after hearing _that_." But the day had caught up to him, and for tonight he could be content to take his rest in an actual bed, with room for his man to hold onto him as they slept.


	6. Charity

Hawke descended the stairs the next morning just ahead of Anders, greeting the landlady and the man he assumed to be her husband. They'd heard him before they met him, the way his violent cough echoed up the stairs. He didn't have to turn around to know the concern that would have arranged itself on the healer's face as soon as the sounds had reached their ears.

"I don't see we got around to proper introductions, yesterday," she stood, beaming at her lodgers and waving . "I'd be Renny, and him with the dodgy cough is my husband Perce. He'd be Cavan's brother, you'd have heard. He'd shake your hand, only I'm not letting him near anyone. Long as it's gone on for him I dread seeing what it'd do to anybody who took it off him."

Ignoring the warnings, Anders nudged his way further into the room and took a seat beside the old man.

"But you…" Perce tried to object and launched himself into another fit.

"What he means is I told him all about how tired you were after you went up and glowed at that elven friend of yours, and he doesn't think it's worth such a bother," Renny spoke as if she'd been finishing the man's sentences for much longer than he'd been ill. "We're told before our old doctor passed on that the best he can do is take those additives in his tea every morning, but they don't last past the drinking anymore."

Anders smiled, recalling all number of rural remedies he'd seen during his various flights from the circle. He'd heard the same from any number of patients he'd seen to then, as well. They'd always tell him not to trouble himself, in that same tone that managed to beg for relief regardless of the words it carried. "I think Fenris was more than a hair worse off than a bit of cough, for all that. Unless you object, I'd like to see if there's anything I can do for you this morning."

Renny immediately cautioned him against asking permission to heal the man and start if he was willing, claiming the stubborn old fool would suffer until it went away on its own. It took some work for the healer not to react when Perce nodded, as his expression clearly gave away that he was consenting purely to spite his wife. Anders guided the man upright and let a touch of magic coat his hand, passing it along the man's back from one lung to the other.

Ignoring the breathless, "Cor," his power prompted from Renny, he announced what would pass as his diagnosis. "Whatever it was you _had_ , Messere, I think we can count ourselves lucky that the cough is the only thing that settled in to stay, because it most certainly isn't going away on its own. That _is_ the only complaint hanging about, isn't it?" At the old man's nod, the healer reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a kerchief. Pressing it into Perce's hands, he said, "Right, then. You'll feel warmth, and you'll cough again. Nod when you're ready."

The sign came after a few attempts at steadying breath. Anders flared his power now, feeding it into Perce's chest, willing the sickness lodged in his lungs to find its way _out_. After a moment, the patient was seized with another fit, this one sounding much less _dry_ than those they'd heard up to now. Only once the coughing subsided and Perce kept breathing clean for a minute, then two, did Anders withdraw his magic and, for the benefit of the dazzled landlady, shake the rest of it off his hand as it dissipated. When Renny produced a pen and parchment, he listed new ingredients for a tea to be taken twice daily over the next week to clear out any remaining infection.

"You should be set, then." Anders inspected the produce in the kerchief and decided he was satisfied there were no other lurking ills before folding it deftly back up.

"That's magic then, is it?" There wasn't even a rattle left in the old landlord's voice, a fact that delighted Renny.

"That it is. If you really want a show, you can watch Davin dispose of the cloth in the street."

" _Me?_ Why is it always me?"

"Because I'm the one with the sense to get on with the healing instead of thinking about it." Anders winked.

"Now this I have to see, after all I missed the goings on in the square yesterday," Following them to the door, Renny added, "And I'm to tell you your friends are waiting for you at the tavern. Cavan and Sela managed to drag an invite to the midday meal out of me for today, though, and they specifically asked for the healers as well, if your plans will have you here that long. I'll tell you now, you're welcome as long as you'd like to stay."

The woman's expression shifted from gratitude to puzzlement as Anders dropped the kerchief in the lane, her mouth shifting into a silent circle of wonderment when Hawke struck it with a lazy miniature ball of fire. Grinning back at her, Hawke promised they'd be back for lunch.

* * *

"About bloody time you lovebirds put in an appearance!" Even if the tavern was oddly busy for this time of the morning – townsfolk seeking a glimpse of the strange visitors, no doubt – Danica's voice carried the length of the room as soon as Hawke closed the door behind him.

"Danica! Just the woman I didn't want to see." Hawke grinned at the expected gesture he got in return. "Before you ask, Anders healed that nasty cough Perce was carting around, and after pushing himself as hard as he did yesterday, he's more than entitled to a morning in. Which reminds me, it's a bit late to make a start on the road, or will be by the time we get our supplies together. Thoughts on leaving at first light tomorrow, since Anders managed to get our welcome extended?" Relaying the rest of the day's plans while a meal and tea were brought to the new arrivals, he suggested that Carver and Fenris deal with finding someone to shape up their blades and hammer the dings out of Fenris's chest plate.

"You're going to ask me to put together the supplies again, aren't you? Even though we all know how well that's worked every time up to now."

Anders couldn't help laughing at the memory of their last stop. "You have more Antivan than any of the rest of us. Although I'm still surprised you couldn't see that pointing at Fenris and pulling your fist into the air in front of you translates as something rather different than 'elfroot.'"

"How else was I supposed to get the point across? I had no reason to believe they'd think it was something _vulgar._ " Scowling into her tea, Danica accepted Merrill's offer of company for the trip to the trader and pointedly ignored the delighted healer until he started eating.

* * *

The trade depot was reasonably stocked, even if everyone they'd encountered said they never got many visitors this far out from the port city. The man running the affair, who had introduced himself as Egan and congratulated them on the show they'd put on in the square, immediately offered to send one of his two boys searching for anything he might not have ready. Merrill promptly located the small display of local crafts, and Danica listened with half an ear to her enchanted cooing over several pieces while she loaded two empty packs with essentials.

A thought struck her after she was certain they had everything they'd need, and she wandered over to join the elf in looking through the village handwork. "I really should find a gift of some sort to let Alistair know I was thinking of him."

"The way you sound, girl, you're looking more for an apology than a reunion," Egan called out from his stool.

"Maybe you should be, after you came all the way to find us without any guards," Merrill kept handling things that caught her eye.

"He _knew_ I was coming alone!" _Damn. That sounded defensive._ "I just didn't expect to be away so long, is all. And you have to bring home a souvenir for your betrothed when you travel apart. It's a rule."

"What about after you're married?"

"Rules go out the window after the wedding."

Egan barked a laugh. "Not _just_ the rules going that way." This brought a snort from Danica, which prompted the elf to ask if she'd missed something dirty. The trader continued, "Least I got to stop stammering once we were wed. Nerves never did go until we jumped that broom."

Merrill perked up at this. "Carver does that all the time when he talks to me! I wish I knew why."

Now the elf had Danica's attention. Ignoring the mad cackling from the trader, she set aside the trinket she'd been considering and regarded Merrill fully. "Wait. Carver? My cousin, Carver, trips over himself when he talks to you?"

"Of course your cousin Carver. I don't know any other Carvers. And sometimes he goes all red in the face, too, even if everyone swears there wasn't anything dirty for me to miss."

"Oh, my dear, if he comes over all nervy like that it can only mean one thing. He's got his eye on you."

"He what?"

"He's interested."

"Interested in what?"

Now Egan couldn't resist involving himself again, even if he did have to talk around his amusement. "Interested in courting you, young lady. That's exactly how I behaved right up until my wedding day."

"You mean…" Merrill trailed off before breathing in a gasp. "What do I do?"

Danica pressed a finger to her temple and sighed. "Oh, balls. If you're not interested, it's only fair you tell him. But try to do it gently. It's never pleasant, hearing that from anyone."

"But I'm not! Not interested, I mean. I mean I'm not not… I mean I don't know _how_ to be courted!"

Eyes twinkling, Egan shared his wisdom. "That part's easy, girl. You let your young man do all the work. Gets him ready for the rest of it."

Snorting again, Danica plucked a carved wooden golem off a shelf and added it to their supplies, leaving a handful of sovereigns with Egan to cover the costs. Gently, she guided the flustered elf out of the depot and toward the tavern for lunch. Outside, Merrill continued her panic.

"You've been courted before. What does it mean to be courted?"

"Just think of it as getting to know each other better, Dearheart. Ask him questions about himself, and sooner or later he'll stumble his way round to asking you questions, and it goes from there."

"But what if I say something wrong? I _always_ say something wrong."

Now Danica laughed fully. "If he's _truly_ interested, nothing you say is wrong. And once you know you're both interested, nothing you say can ever be wrong again if he knows what's good for him."

"But what if we _are_ both… interested? What happens then?"

"Then that would be lovely for both of you."

"But how will I know what to do, then?"

"You'll figure it out, I'm sure." Idly, Danica raised a hand and waggled her fingers, igniting a spark that played from the tip of one down to her thumb and back again. Her expression might have been called devious, if Merrill had been watching for that sort of thing. "You _do_ like the sounds your electricity magic makes, don't you?"

"Oh, they _are_ fun!" Quite at home with electricity, Merrill found she could easily mimic the little static power she saw her new friend using. "But what's this _for_?"

"When you need it, my dear, it will come to you."

After a few steps, Merrill gasped again. "I just learned something _dirty_ , didn't I?"

* * *

Charity turned out to be small enough that it didn't warrant its own weaponsmith, but there was a forge for general purposes and the smith who manned it seemed confident enough in his ability to restore a couple of blades and Fenris's plate. Having handed the gear over to the man, the two warriors had seated themselves against a tree some yards away to wait for the work to be completed.

"I have been curious, Carver." The elf rested his head casually against the tree as he turned it to speak to his companion after a morning filled mostly with quiet contemplation. "Are your experiences within the Templar Order in Kirkwall a topic you might wish to discuss?"

"I don't see why not. I wouldn't be certain I could answer all your questions, but Maker knows I wished I could have been vocal about it at the time."

"I had hoped you could enlighten me on the true number of blood mages there were to be found in Kirkwall. Your brother once told me that it takes a sufficiency of evil or desperation to turn to such, and it would seem from the little Danica and Anders have had to say that mages kept within a Circle would be very desperate indeed."

Carver thought for a moment, watching the bustling of village folk through the square up the way as he considered. "I think you'd have to define 'desperate.' Some of the mages in the Circle seemed content, or even happy, to be there, even if I wondered whether they'd stay that way if they had a bit more confidence in their ability to handle the world outside. Others, well… You saw what was done to Anders. That's extreme, in my experience, but then you consider bastards like Alrik and the things they got up to can't be compared in the same way."

"Surely the victims of those men would be tempted to seek out a demon, if only for their own protection, would they not?"

"I asked the same question of Moira, shortly after I started working to get mages _out_ when I could. The trouble with reaching to a demon for survival is that a mage would have to know they'd survive. The closer it got to… the end, there, the more justified Meredith seemed to think it would be to slay a mage out of hand even on suspicion of using blood magic. I suppose it became an ingrained way of thinking for a lot of them. Even if they could get a demon to stop whatever their immediate suffering was, they wouldn't live to enjoy the reprieve."

Fenris considered this for a moment, trying to align this new information with his previous ideas, and his experience of Tevinter slavery. "How is it that there have not been uprisings before now, then?"

"For all we know, there have been. Templars have the ultimate power over mages – if they can make a case for enough unrest, they can annul an entire Circle and none would be the wiser. Short of that, there's Tranquility. Most mages would rather hang than go that way, and having seen it done, I would have preferred to fit the noose."

"Fear, on so many levels. I have learned much of the Chantry's dictates on mages since I began keeping their company, and more of how those dictates are placed into practice. I am… shamed, that I would once have wished such confinement on anyone, even if I remain concerned about their ability to exist peacefully in the world at large." Fenris looked away now, wondering why he would have spoken his error aloud.

"If they're not prepared to live in the world, it's the world's failing, I say. It'll take time, sure, and violent upheaval will only feed the fear of the unknown, but… we can only do what we can do, Fenris. The more the world sees of people like us living without fear among mages, the less their fear will be in the end. I wouldn't blame yourself for how you felt before you knew the difference, either. Ask any of the four we're on the road with now, and I'd bet they tell you the same."

Feeling somewhat lighter, Fenris rose to answer the call from the smith to inspect his work. On reflection, he couldn't disbelieve Carver's final opinion of the mages. Perhaps he had sought some kind of absolution, and even if it had come by proxy, he could be content.

* * *

It had been worth returning for lunch, Hawke thought. Through most of it, they had heard no end of grief from Renny over the fact that, now he could speak again, Perce hadn't shut up all morning. The landlord, for his part, said nothing through the entire meal, his expression matching the one he'd held when he agreed to be healed. During one of the brief lulls in conversation, Hawke spared himself a moment to hope that Anders might one day antagonize him in the same way.

"… have asked Sela, and she has agreed," Hawke heard from Cavan, when he shifted his attention back in to the discussion, "to serve Charity as its healer. Our own doctor passed on a fortnight ago, Maker bless him, though the building he used as his surgery has been in need of repair for some time. As you'll be staying on today, we wondered if we might impose upon you to look over the facility and help Sela get set up to take her post."

His interest piqued, Anders agreed readily. "We do have some experience in the running of a clinic, so I'm sure we'll be able to offer some helpful suggestions. Before we go, I would ask after your education, Sela. Have you any training in potions and tinctures and so on, or was your focus on the magical aspects only?"

"I am somewhat lacking in medicinal knowledge, I'm afraid. When I visited the surgery yesterday, I was disappointed to find that Tobar kept no references on the subject, either. With the instability we're hearing about in Circles the world over, I was hoping you would have a suggestion as to where I might send away to get some of this information."

Anders glanced a question at Hawke, pointing upward even as he raised his brow. Hawke shrugged and nodded in response, prompting the healer to excuse himself to step upstairs. As the next bit of conversation followed him up, he found himself laughing all the way to his room.

"You have run a surgery in the past?" Cavan sounded hopeful. "That is excellent news, if hardly surprising after what we've seen of you already."

Hawke's lips twitched as he waved in the general direction Anders had disappeared. "He ran it. I just ran tame in it when he wasn't paying attention. Might I ask if the situation with Ardan has been resolved?"

"Ah. Ardan… I've asked him to swear that no harm will come to Sela at his hands or at his behest, and he won't give his word. We are both certain he would keep to it once given, but he has had to stay restrained since yesterday afternoon. I hate to release him knowing I might eventually have to call for his execution, but I can't keep him locked away forever."

Hawke gave the room his most charming smile. "Perhaps you'd allow me to have a word? I can be _very_ persuasive when the mood strikes."

Anders came back into the room, and set a book on the table at Sela's elbow before anyone could speculate on just how Ardan might be persuaded. "You'll have that," the healer gestured at the herbal he'd retrieved from his packs. "It's very complete, and being this close to Antiva I'm sure you'll appreciate the appendix that outlines poisons and their antidotes. Dry reading, but by the time you retire I'd wager you'll have used every page of it at least once."

Sela opened the book, choosing pages at random. "Are you… certain you wish me to have this?"

From the almost reverential way she handled the tome, Anders suspected she would have spent most of her time at Starkhaven in the library. "Of course. Far easier for Davin and I to find another on the road than it would be for you to track one down from here. Shall we see to the clinic?"

* * *

Hawke stretched out, fully clothed, on the bed to await Anders's return. He had no doubt the man could go on with Sela for hours on end, offering advice on doctoring and running a clinic. If he fell asleep this way, he figured Anders would take the state of his clothing as a sign he'd want to wake up to discuss the day.

Nearing midnight, that was exactly what happened. Anders looked exhausted, but well pleased with the day's work. He preempted any questions with one of his own, about how the conversation with Ardan had gone.

"Terribly, at first, and then I got a brilliant idea. Asked him if he could look me in the eye and deny what his brother was up to, on the night he's been on about. Took his time getting there, but he admitted it."

"Wouldn't stop him wanting to defend his family, I suppose, for all that I'd think most people would throw a rapist to the wolves, family or not."

"Either way, I followed that by asking him if he had any notion at all what might go through a young girl's mind when confronted with a man who wants to hurt her in such a way. Took his time again, but he finally confessed he hadn't given it much thought." Hawke stood, disrobing and packing away his clothing for the night. "So I told him. In detail, drawing on every experience you and I have ever had treating such a young girl. He went quiet again for a time, and then gave his word to Cavan that he'd leave her alone. I wouldn't trust the man with a bent copper, but that seems to be the way of things around here."

"Their issue now. Sela told me in any event that she doesn't plan to travel anywhere alone for a bit, especially after dark. Although once she sets herself up as a proper healer, the villagers will protect her as much as her company, if not more."

"I may have mentioned to Ardan, in passing and on my way out the door, that depriving a community of its only doctor might not be his healthiest choice, once the village at large becomes aware of what he's done. Just in case he was running a game. Maybe."

"Great minds, love." His own clothes packed away, Anders slid into bed, but not before Hawke caught the pensive look on his face.

"So," the mage began, deceptively casual. "How'd it go at the surgery?"

"It was hideous. I don't think that Tabor or Tobar or whatever his name was ever cleaned any of his instruments. Or surfaces. Or ran any of his medicines under his nose, for that matter, either. I drew up a list of supplies Sela will need to give it a proper go, and spent most of the rest of the day cleaning."

"You should have sent someone. I'd have come and helped, after I was finished with my little prison adventure."

"Yes, well…" If it had been possible to shuffle his feet while lying supine, the healer would have managed it. "Maybe I should have. As it was, I… made a decision, that perhaps should have involved you first, but I felt it was right and… well… I gave Sela some money, to send over to Wycome for necessities a clinic can't do without."

"Did you give her enough to get what she needs, or did you bankrupt the rest of our travels?" Hawke couldn't help smiling in the dark. He knew what the answer would be, but repeating his past arguments that the two of them came as a set wouldn't serve any purpose here. Clearly, Anders was well aware of the fact by now.

"What? No. It was only a little, but you know how far a little can go for a-" the healer turned onto his side, having suspected and confirmed with a quick glance his love was having him on. "I gave her our entire life savings. We're out of money and never making it to Denerim. Ever."

Mirroring the move, Hawke propped his head on his elbow and stole a quick kiss. "You would never do something so impulsive or inconsiderate to the rest of us. Why should I be anything other than proud that you'd give what charity we can afford?"

"Well… I…"

"At least until after we take advantage of our last night of privacy, at any rate."

"I'm sure I saw a sofa somewhere downstairs…" Even if he pulled off the threatening tone, Anders couldn't help but grin and enjoy the moment.


	7. Risk and Reward

As the call went up to ready for arrival at port, the six gathered their packs and prepared to head above deck as soon as the plank was dropped. They'd had enough hanging about in foul, dark holds by now that all save one were hoping there wouldn't be a chance to board another ship to Denerim for at least a few days. Anders, for his part, had barely spoken during the entire journey and was becoming more tense by the moment. His uncharacteristic silence had more than once raised Danica's ire, though he gave no reaction to her prodding.

Almost a week outside of Charity, the rains had come. Overland progress had been slow, with time at camp occasionally stretching to days without moving. Hawke had lost count of the number of sprains and other minor injuries they'd had to treat after someone slipped in the mud on the road. By the time they'd come to Hercinia, the foul weather had yet to move on, and they had agreed to scout the docks to see if it might be safe to take ship. Nothing had been bound for Denerim, they found, though a ship was available that would more than make up for the time they'd lost. After confirming with Anders that this was what he wanted, they'd boarded and left the road behind.

Danica could feel the tension coming from all of them as they stepped off the boat onto the Kirkwall docks. The risk in returning by ship, directly into the city, should have appeared to be less than what they would have faced had they kept to land. Any number of travelers they had passed on the road had told of violent homecomings for mages in the smaller villages, fear and unrest in settled areas near Circles of Magi, whether they still stood or not. And those few who had news of Kirkwall had said it was a city at relative peace with itself, citizens going about their daily occupations with all the habit and purpose of those justly served.

Just when Danica was about to ask if they planned to stand on the docks all day with their things strewn about their feet, Hawke broke the reverential silence. "It should feel like coming home, shouldn't it? Strange that it doesn't. At all."

Carver shouldered his packs and moved to stand at his brother's shoulder. "What? Your old estate? All that's just things, isn't it, that we don't need? I haven't thought once about anything there, not even when remembering Mother. And not for nothing, but we _are_ bound for Ferelden next. Could be that'll be your homecoming."

The moment gone, they moved into Lowtown, stopping at the Hanged Man for a bit of news and a rented bath. In and around the ablutions, during which Hawke watched over Anders like a bear with her cub after seeing the recognition on Corff's face, they learned that what they'd heard on the road was largely true. The verdict Aveline had entered had long been accepted and forgotten, followed as it was by her proclamation that the city's Champion had been dispatched to locate and bring to justice "those primarily involved in the incident in Hightown." Who knew Aveline could wield propaganda just as effectively as she hefted her blade?

Mages were very much on people's lips even still, though Corff expressed his surprise at the number of people who lost their fear of speaking support after it became clear that the Chantry's hold was slipping. Debates were held regularly over mugs of ale here, and presumably over finer spirits in the higher echelons of society. There were those who held that mages should be recaptured regardless of the cost. There were level heads offering that was _men_ who had destroyed the Chantry, magic being only their tool. There were even a few here and there who felt the Chantry's hold over affairs should have been abolished ages ago, although that extreme was still rarely spoken aloud.

Presentable once more, the group armed themselves and set out for Hightown. They'd been told Varric was still in residence, but he had been out for most of the day by the time they arrived. Though he didn't speak, Anders picked up his pace and led the way, gaze at his feet, his direction telling those who knew the city that the Chantry would be their first destination.

* * *

If Hawke thought walking into the courtyard felt somehow surreal, he couldn't imagine what Anders must be thinking. Rubble had been cleared and new foundation had been laid, workmen even now pulling the materials of their craft to and fro in the effort to rebuild. At the base of the large staircase leading up to the new construction, a sort of shrine had been established.

Tented on three sides to protect against the weather stood a painting, masterfully done, depicting the Chantry as it had been before that night. A banner stood next to it, announcing that through the generosity of benefactors throughout the Free Marches and Ferelden and the grace of the Maker, the Chantry would be restored to its former glory, standing just as it had before.

Bells tolled the hour on their arrival, and it wasn't until they tolled again that Anders felt ready to step away for a word with Hawke.

"I should feel something here, shouldn't I? I've been trying, but… I can't. I just don't, other than some small sense of regret over the lives caught in the middle of it all." Anders stopped at the wall of a building some distance away, leaning his back against it and hanging his head.

Hawke pressed a shoulder on the wall beside him, absently taking his hand. "I'm not sure as anyone should be telling you what's appropriate to be going on in your head. Not in general, and least of all now."

"What does that make me, Davin? That I can look at the place where hundreds of lives ended at my hand, that sparked wars and deaths the world over, and I can't summon anything more than a vague sorrow over the innocents who were in that building?"

"It makes you a revolutionary, Anders, one with a conscience. It makes you human, one who has had plenty of time up to now to come to terms with the past. Even if you regret the start of the revolution, you've still got your humanity and your unfailing moral compass."

There was something more, bubbling under the surface of Anders's thoughts, just out of reach. For now, standing in the shadow of the worst thing he'd ever done and hearing such an affirmation from he whose thoughts mattered most, the healer again led the way to their next stop. This time, he held his head high.

* * *

Hawke took pleasure in seeing the Viscount's Keep patrolled once more by anyone other than Templars. The buzz of their presence arose even as they ascended the stairs, those nobles present recognizing the Champion, if not his companions. As they approached, Seneschal Bran stepped out of his office to halt their progress.

"Serah Hawke," he acknowledged, speaking as always as if he wished he could do more than _look_ down his nose. "I imagine you have returned to discuss whatever _justice_ this office has sent you about extracting. That being the case, you may wish to return two days hence to be heard during consideration of high justice in the criminal court." So saying, he shifted his condescending gaze to Anders.

Though the healer didn't rise to the bait, Hawke opened his mouth to say something terribly impolitic that he would never regret nonetheless. He was interrupted with a hand on his arm, however, as Danica stepped out from behind him and offered her usual exuberance.

"Seneschal Bran, how lovely to see you again! I must say, that doublet looks very well on you. Certainly adds to your very unctuous presence. Surely I didn't hear you suggest that the future Queen of Ferelden should be relegated to stand in line with thugs and cutpurses awaiting their judgment?"

"I… The viscountess is very busy, my lady, engaged in review of very complicated matters presented by various landholders in the region." The seneschal imitated a perfunctory bow in her general direction, apparently intended to remind her of the _future_ portion of her question. "You understand the decorum of a state visit must be observed, and we are at a disadvantage. We are in no state fit to receive a guest such as yourself."

"You know, I've got one _just_ like you in the castle at home. Always spouting rules and chattering on about civilized propriety. Only her hair is grey, and we call her a lady's maid." Danica raised a hand in front of her now, calling about it several dark swirls of the spirit magic she favored. "You understand the future Queen of Ferelden is decidedly not above splintering that door to give her friend and political ally a reprieve from her contracts?"

Unable to conjure any remotely politic response, Bran relented and opened the door to announce the visiting party. Danica mumbled something under her breath, but Hawke caught the general impression of her feeling that she'd just had fun, even if it might bite her on the ass later.

Passing into the office, Anders edged around his companions, finding an empty parchment and quill on Aveline's desk and setting to work on what appeared to be a sketch.

"Don't mind him, Viscount _ess_ ," Hawke winked as he returned her firm hug. "He knew you'd try to break our ribs, I'm sure."

Grinning broadly, the viscount, thank you very much, of Kirkwall leaned back against her desk, as she had so often done during her days as captain of the guard. "So the Champion returns! Shall I have to warn Donnic there will be revelry in the streets until all hours once your news is announced?"

"If you're asking whether the one responsible for the business before we left has been dealt with, I'll tell you he has. The spirit is gone, and Anders is all his own again. You can tell your people justice has been done." Hawke spared himself a worried thought, that Anders hadn't at all reacted to the discussion of the spirit or his separation. "What's this about Donnic? Got him on party patrol?"

"Hardly. He succeeded me as Guard-Captain. I had originally offered it to Lieutenant Harley, as she had seniority in command, but she wouldn't have it. Seemed to think the guards wouldn't follow anyone in my place so willingly as they would him."

"How _did_ this whole viscount business come about, anyway? And how is it you haven't ordered Bran executed by now?"

"He's not without his value, even if I have to put him in his place now and again. And again. Turns out, you lead a city through a large enough crisis, they'll beg you to lead them after as well. You can't have forgotten the number of nobles begging _you_ to take the chair after you sent the Qunari scrambling. And apparently, once Chantry support eroded past a certain point, there are those even willing to come out publicly in support of my stance on keeping Chantry and secular business separate." Now Aveline looked at Anders, but her eyes couldn't keep up with the quick strokes of his quill or the fast turning of the parchment as he went on about whatever he was doing.

Aveline straightened, a thought occurring to her. "About your estate, Hawke… We've maintained it for you, though you should know Bran has been bitching endlessly about taxes for the last while now. Will you be taking up your residence again?"

Hawke looked at Carver, who smiled briefly at recognizing his conflict. "Just things, Davin. Just things."

Settling on a decision, Hawke nodded. "Auction it, Aveline. Take the proceeds to cover the taxes, and put the rest toward rebuilding the city. Chantry or elsewhere, bring it back into the city. If we can tempt a certain public official with a little corruption, come see us later at the Hanged Man. We'll take rooms there, for as long as we're here."

Now Anders looked up, his pleasure in the choice clearly evident on his face even as Aveline nodded thoughtfully. She'd never expected they'd stay here, not with the healer to consider.

Before they could leave, Anders handed Aveline the sketch he'd been working on. "They said, in the courtyard, that the Chantry is being rebuilt exactly as it was. I don't know where all the… compounds were placed. Justice had to take over to see it finished. But here. I marked all the spots we had considered. Make sure they're filled in when the new building goes up."

As the party left, Aveline decided an evening at the Hanged Man might just be in order. A celebration was called for, after all. Calling for Bran, she decided she agreed. Justice had been done.

* * *

It had felt like old times. Varric, on returning to his rooms and seeing the group nursing their mugs, hadn't commented at all on the time between. He'd called for pitchers and food, and dug out the cards. Wicked Grace was on. Anders became more animated as the evening wore on, seeming more himself, losing as much as ever.

At the end of the evening, everyone having imbibed a little too much, Aveline stood to leave and clapped her hand on the healer's shoulder, resting it there for just a moment. As her hand withdrew, the envelope she had pinned against his chest with his fingers fell into his lap. She was gone by the time he opened it, so there was no chance to speak with her as he left the parchment on the table and fled toward his room.

Hawke stood to follow, alarmed at the shift in mood, but Danica gestured him back down. "I think it's time he and I had a few words."

"You know, Hawke," Varric snatched up the parchment, talking as he read. "Of all the things you've told me about your trip around the world, let me just say it's a damned shame I didn't get to see that ritual."

"Don't _you_ start, Varric. That's all Danica talked about for a week in the cramped hold of a ship bound for Antiva. Couldn't throw _her_ off a pier for it, but it won't stop me knocking you off a dock here."

"One day I might believe that threat." Finished, the dwarf handed the parchment to the mage as he passed, headed for bed.

* * *

 **DISCHARGE OF JUSTICE**

 **BY ORDER OF THE OFFICE OF THE VISCOUNTESS OF THE CITY-STATE OF KIRKWALL**

In consideration of services performed under prior order of this Office, the reparatory actions of the judged Anders have been examined and found not wanting. Recognizing the completion of the penance as prescribed by this Office, the City-State of Kirkwall hereby orders that the aforementioned defendant shall be released from the judgment of service entered against him.

All regularly mandated rights and obligations of citizenship under the laws of the City-State of Kirkwall are hereby and immediately restored to the named defendant.

* * *

Anders turned away from the window as the door opened behind him, expecting to see Hawke come to talk him down, parchment in hand. His thoughts stumbled when he saw who his company turned out to be.

"D-Danica."

Closing the door behind her, the mage took a seat on the table, scooting back to press her back against the wall. "I made him sit back down. You can stop beating yourself up any time, you know."

"Excuse me?"

"I heard you earlier. First you think you should feel something, and then you take a look at whatever it was Aveline handed you on her way out the door and feel too much. Quit punishing yourself, Anders. It's all right to regret what you did. It's even all right to think, just a little, that the ends justified the means. That's about where I'm at."

The healer's mouth fell open in amazement. "I took innocent lives. A piece of paper can't undo that."

"And neither can any of your actions in the future, but is that going to stop you caring for the sick and the dispossessed at any point in your life? If that paper is what it sounds like, all that means is you're free to do some good without anyone looking over your shoulder and judging its merits, which no one has ever needed to do in any case."

"Ha. Wonderful. What's next? A royal pardon?"

"Good!" The mage applauded, dipping a little bow to the healer with her head. "Keep doing that. You're not supposed to be serious and morose and broody all the damn time. You're a smartarse, and you need to stick to that."

"Can't say as I've heard _that_ before. Usually it's people telling me to straighten up. What's it to you, anyway?"

"Ever since we've been acquainted, I've given a lot of energy to trying to hate you for that. All smiles and jest, whatever was going on around you, even after coming up out of those awful cells they kept and healing others who'd suffered the same. Able to _live_ beyond the Void that Circle was to anyone with half a brain, able to be happy. You were what I always wanted to be." Danica froze, her expression closing off, making it evident she'd meant to keep part of that to herself.

"But you haven't been able to pull it off? Hating me?" When she nodded, Anders continued. "Perhaps that's because you're already living beyond it all. You've got your own smart mouth now, and your betrothed, and things to live for that don't involve avoiding another lesson from a Templar. Well, that, and I have as much charm as I do magic. You're who you want to be _now_ , Danica. Be happy with that."

As the door closed behind the departing mage, Anders thought he just might be onto something there, even if it had taken an unplanned confession to get him there. He'd been given the freedom to be who he wanted to be, however it had come about. And with a little effort, he could be happy with that.


	8. Lost and Found

The sounds of a lively Hanged Man morning echoed up the hall and under the door, bringing with them a sense of fellowship and enjoyment that seemed to suit Anders's mood. As he dressed, the thought struck him that he rarely woke so far ahead of his love. Perhaps he should take advantage of it and arrange a plate of whatever Corff was burning to bring back for a lazy morning in. They had two full days before the ship they wanted would be leaving – an actual ship, with space set aside for _people_ who had places to go – so there was time to indulge. The thought of taking passage to Denerim in something that wasn't dark and cramped and foul-smelling made the idea of going back to sea again almost pleasant.

Almost.

His hand had nearly reached the door when he heard stirring in the bed behind him, and the voice questioning why he was up and about so early.

"A dream woke me. Don't worry about it." But the look he got in return said plainly that the mage _would_ worry about it. _Of course he will. He's spent the last eight years concerned about the goings-on in my head_. "Really, I'm fine."

Anders crossed back to the bed, taking Hawke's hands and drawing the man up to his knees for a reassuring kiss. "I dreamed of… that night. No surprise, really, given that we stood there staring at the place it all started for an hour yesterday. Odd thing was, every time the horror or whatever started to build, I'd turn around and there you were. Or I'd look to the side and see Merrill, trilling an insult at a statue that hadn't started to move yet, or Carver, even then bringing his blade round to keep something away from me. Couldn't call it a nightmare, really, if there wasn't any fear to speak of. It was just… strange."

"Not so strange, for all that," Hawke mused as he shuffled off the bed and dug for clothing. "As you said, we did gawk at it for an hour. It was on your mind."

"I think what was also on my mind were the things you had to say, and the scolding I took from Danica later about punishing myself. You were right, about distance and time helping. But the dream made me wonder this morning if…" Trailing off, the healer let habit take over as he helped the mage with getting his robes into place and fastening the clasps at the shoulders. "Perhaps all the wailing I expected to do yesterday was held off by the fact that all of you were there. It sounds stupid, but if all of you – and you especially – are still with me, then it feels like things must be mostly right."

Hawke stilled, eventually tilting his head as he considered. "Not stupid, Anders. Sappy, maybe. But I can follow that by saying you've planted an idea in my own mind. Maybe getting off that boat yesterday didn't feel like coming home for me because I'd had the lot of you – and you especially – with me wherever we were. Maybe I didn't need to come home, not if I was already there."

Hawke found himself reflecting that this was the kind of thing he'd been waiting for. This moment, in itself, was a large part of the reason he'd taken ship halfway around the world and back. Before he could carry on with any more maudlin sentiment, Anders stepped away.

"Enough sap for one morning, then. Starving. Let's go be at home with breakfast."

 _And there's the rest of the reason._ Laughing, the mage asked if Anders had any idea what he'd like to do with the day.

Thinking breakfast in bed was out, the healer moved on to the practical. "I was thinking a trip to the Gallows, or what's left of it." He held up a hand when Hawke stopped moving down the hall and turned around. "You'll be there, remember. I'll be fine. I want to see what's become of it, and after all the running around we did for all of them, maybe sneak into their library, if anything remains. We're owed an herbal, at least."

* * *

The morning meal had been cleared, and most of the happy troupe shuffled off to find whatever a rare free day would bring. Danica stayed back, lingering over her tea as was her habit, intent on grilling Varric for details about her family she hadn't yet been able to pull out of anyone thus far. Always out for a story, they'd said the dwarf was, so surely she could convince him to tell her one or two. Or six. Of course, she didn't consider that he might have other plans.

"So! Marrying a king, huh? Tell me: does he wear the crown to bed every night, or is that just for special occasions?"

Choking a laugh around her tea, Danica was stricken with the mental image of the story being written behind the twinkle in the dwarf's eye. "Wouldn't you like to know? Maybe _I_ wear the crown to bed."

Delighted, Varric shuffled to the door to flag down a server for another pot of the tea she liked. He'd have to keep this one talking. "Least you're not trying to convince me it's a chaste and dreary courtship. I met him once, you know. Saw the tail end of an argument with Meredith, may she rest in lyrium, as she tried to hand him his balls. I'd say that fight ended in a draw, though what I saw of him was a very different picture than I'd imagine for a king."

"He told me about that encounter when he returned home. And what you saw of him is probably why I'm marrying him. I'm after the man. Don't give two bits about the throne."

"There's potential there, though, isn't there? Imagine what it would do to the Chantry to see a mage ruling a country beside her king, being fair and reasoned and intelligent and not at all abominable. Have to wait for their control to crumble a bit more for that, though. Wouldn't want the Divine calling down an Exalted March in a fit of pique."

Laughing again, Danica admitted Alistair had given her much the same opinion. "Won't be long now, if the news we've heard so far is any measure. Although flexing that particular muscle in a snit might just be something the Divine would do, if she's after what I think she is with the Chantry here."

 _Oh, good eye_ , the dwarf thought. "I have it on reasonably good authority that there was a bit of a pissing match between the Divine and Aveline. All diplomatically couched in pleasant letters, of course. Aveline said the pretense of setting it back as it was is an insult to the memory of those who died. The Divine's response – better you don't know how I saw it – was vague and sugary, but I gather she thinks if it's all restored it'll be easier for her to bring back Chantry influence as if she'd never lost it. Hard to, without a Templar Order left to speak of, but she's making the effort."

The mage sipped her tea and mumbled something unflattering about where the Divine could shove her influence.

"Court must be a terror in Ferelden," Varric eased away from the topic. "Either for you, if you have to suppress all that, or for the rest of the nobility if you don't lock it away. Hawke said yesterday you had been the liaison to the Circle, although I would have imagined a more… sedate choice for politics. Hmm. Wonder what the court would have planned for you now the Circle rebelled, if you weren't about to tie the knot with the king."

"I haven't always been this… outspoken." Recalling Anders's advice from yesterday, Danica shook off the memory. "I'd have stayed as the liaison anyway, even without the engagement. Alistair wouldn't revoke my investiture over the actions of others. His morals in that area aggravate the court more than just about anything else. Whenever I can snag a bit of privacy, I like to imagine that uncle of his selecting from a variety of sticks to shove up his arse when he gets up in the morning. I've even named most of them."

"Stop there!" the dwarf commanded, even as the idea took wing in his mind. "You can't tell me something like that if I'm not ready to write it all down. I've already got enough floating around my head as it is, just begging to be let out. Ooh! I'll call it _Royal Romance_."

Aghast, Danica set down her tea. "You wouldn't!"

"Take a copy of _Hard in Hightown_ off the shelf when you go. You won't feel so bad about it after you read that. And I'm not getting away completely free, either. Did Hawke ever tell you about the time he got us lost on the Wounded Coast for three hours?"

* * *

Fenris had woken early, having slept lighter than was usual even for him. Leaving the Hanged Man even before the kitchens had been fired up for a new day, he soon found himself wandering through the city, his feet retracing the steps he'd taken in his hunt for Danarius so many years ago. As he climbed the steps away from the alienage, his mind lingered on the memory of his first meeting with Hawke.

So much had changed, he thought, realizing in an instant that everything _good_ he'd come to perceive about the world outside Tevinter was somehow embodied by this random gathering of mages and their associates. His friends. A faint smile touched his lips as he recalled his original opinions of them all, settling on Hawke in particular. What a mental battle he'd waged, at once vilifying the man for his magic and placing him so high on a pedestal for his generosity.

As dawn neared, he found himself in Hightown, gazing at the window to the sitting room of the mansion he'd occupied during his time here. He had no concept of _home_ , but felt a swelling of relief when he realized he felt no particular tie to this place, nor any longer to the threads that bound it to his past. Though he had come to realize that he might one day want more than the easy companionship of his friends, he could yet scarce contemplate seeking whatever that _more_ might be without them at his side. Much lighter, he turned away, planning to linger in the Hightown morning until the myriad stalls in the marketplace were prepared to offer him something new for his morning meal.

Turning into the courtyard beyond his friend's old estate, Fenris immediately released his blade from the catch at his back. _What nerve it must take, for a band of thugs to be out this near to daylight, even armed as they are._ He counted half a dozen at the fore, marking an unseen number – perhaps a dozen – lurking in the shadows under the eaves beyond them. He was spotted as he looked for a place to conceal himself, but considered himself fortunate that only three broke away from the group to meet him.

Fenris waited until they were a reasonably safe distance away from the larger group before he sent his will along the lyrium in his skin, his vision sharpening even as he began to flicker in and out of his opponents' sight. Feet flying beneath him, he turned his blade and felt it gain purchase in the nearest man's gut, even as he allowed his momentum to pull the sword clear and carry him a few steps behind the others.

Striking once, then twice, in quick succession, the other two attackers fell as the horde in the shadows became aware they'd found a much worse threat than some random noble's bodyguard out for a stroll. Fenris stepped backward, assuming a defensive stance, as his enemies drew steel and began to advance en masse. As they drew near, the ground began to glow an eerie orange beneath their feet. Their attention drawn to the ground, they failed to immediately register the scorching drips and heaving balls of flame that began to fall on them from above.

Scanning the courtyard, Fenris spotted a man – _is that the crest of the_ City Guard _on his robes?_ – immersed in his casting as he descended the final steps into the courtyard from Viscount's Way. _Ask him later._ Reversing his grip on the sword, the warrior took advantage of the distraction, swiftly moving from target to target as he cut down those who hadn't already fallen under the blazing rain.

Satisfied that the threat had passed, Fenris replaced his sword at his back and strode across the square to introduce himself and thank his unexpected savior.

"Think nothing of it," the mage offered a firm handshake. "I'd be Lieutenant Tellen, and those lot would be the bastards who can't grasp the meaning of the phrase _off duty_. Can I rely on you to come back on up to the Keep and provide your account of events while I arrange to have them cleared out?"

"There is no need to ask." Fenris fell into step as Tellen started ascending the stairs. "Mages in the Guard? Such a thing would have been unheard of when I was previously in residence."

"Several of us now, though I was the first. Captain Donnic's idea. Soon as he realized what I was capable of, he put me to training for command and set me to building my squad. Can't say we usually get action like _that_ , though. Generally we sit around and think over the crimes that look like magic was involved, now there isn't a Circle, though if there isn't enough of that to do we'll attach ourselves to one of the twos going out on patrol."

"It is… a novel concept. Are you all versed in the battle magics, then?"

"Not all of us, no. I've got a couple of straight healers who don't go out unless someone's patrolling an area we know to be nasty. Plenty of support magic, though there are a couple like me who don't mind getting our hands dirty every now and again."

"And your patrols with the standing pairs offer you whatever protection is available, should there be need."

"Aye," Tellen paused at the door, giving orders to the guardsmen standing watch to round up a crew for disposal in the square. "Though from what I've heard, if there's any of the previous captain in Donnic, it's his refusal to see his men taking unnecessary risk. Mages are required to pick up and keep a certain level of skill in basic hand-to-hand, in case we're ever disarmed or in close quarters. It's not a bad occupation, overall. There are elements of dread, for all that I couldn't say which one carries more fear for me. Either the fact that my usual sparring partner now is the captain's wife, or that she's the viscountess."

Fenris laughed as he took a seat to give his statement. "Knowing her, I would think neither idea should worry you as much as the fact that your sparring partner is simply _Aveline_."

* * *

After a morning spent wandering aimlessly through Lowtown, the unconventionally uncourting couple found themselves pausing to sit on a bench in the shade of one of the larger buildings. Several minutes passed, both of them observing the crowd, before Carver decided he had to comment on what he'd just witnessed.

"That was, ah… That was a really remarkable thing you did, in the alienage. Giving your old house over to the healer, I mean, and telling him to sell off what was left in it for supplies."

Merrill beamed up from her seat beside him. "Well, you were the one who said things were just… things, and anyway I couldn't let him keep trying to make people better in a tent with holes all over it. The alienage has needed someone like him for a very long time."

"And of course you'd think nothing of it. It just made me realize how much I, ah… ad-admire you. Your generosity, I mean."

Obviously pleased, the elf absently reached for the warrior's hand and simply held it. "It's no more kindness than you would have shown. Look at everything you did for me when I first came to Kirkwall. And it was _very_ nice of you to sit in that corner of the hold with me on the boat all the way here and let me go on and on as I did to keep from being bored."

"Trust me, Merrill, that wasn't any hardship. I… like hearing your stories."

"Oh! I liked hearing yours, too. Especially the ones from Lothering. It must have been so hard, for you to come here the way you did. You were such a different person for a while, it must have been just awful for you."

Oddly touched, Carver felt he should put her at her ease. "It wasn't so bad. I had your roof to fix and those marketing lessons, didn't I?"

Merrill sighed happily, leaning her head against his arm for a moment. Though she kept his hand in hers, she shot to her feet when the realization of memory struck her. "Oh, my! I just realized what we're doing! It's like it's right out of one of Varric's serials. You know, the one about the Templar commander and the guardsman. I never saw the point of any of that… courting business, not for a long time."

"C-courting?" Carver's voice climbed, at least an octave.

"Oh! Oh, no. I said something wrong. I _always_ say something wrong. Forget I said-"

"N-no, _no_ , you… You didn't say anything wrong, I just didn't… realize…"

"You don't mean you _don't_ want to be courting?"

It took him a minute to puzzle through to the meaning behind the double negative. "Well… No. I mean yes. I mean I just never thought you'd want to…"

Merrill's face relaxed to a contented smile then, going on the logic she'd learned that if he was still stammering he must still be interested. "You know, one of the things in those serials I wasn't sure I saw the point of doing… Well, when I think about it right now, it sounds…" Trailing off, the elf turned, nudging the warrior's knees apart with her own so she could step close. After a slight hesitation, she lifted her free hand to his cheek and pressed her lips to his for a long moment.

"Oh, my. The serial went on about it, but I didn't think it could be _that_ nice."

"It… It was. Nice. Are you… all right, then?"

"Definitely. More than all right. I… think I might have wanted to do that for a long time, now."

Carver's eyes riveted themselves to hers, and whatever he found there confirmed that he really _had_ heard what he'd thought he'd just heard. "I… Well… Me too, Merrill."

"Oh! That's wonderful, then!" The elf's eyes slid down and away as her voice began to reflect some of the shyness he'd heard when they'd first met. "You know… I _have_ read about some of the other things that courting couples do, too. Do you think we should try them? I think we should try them." Tugging on his hand, her mind was made up. "Since we're on our way back to the Hanged Man for lunch anyway."

Face aflame, Carver demurred, keeping his seat. "I… Um. In a minute, yes. We can in a minute."

"But we've already been dallying so _long_ out here!"

"I… I know, but… Can we go in a minute? We'll go in a minute."

"Oh. _Oh!_ " Realization dawning, Merrill sat quickly back down beside the man. "I read about _that_ in Varric's serials, too!"


	9. Glorious and Wild

Court had gone on past the lunching hour, but no one present seemed to mind. Only one case remained to be heard, after which many of those in attendance would have the afternoon free. It had been a very educational morning, if also dry and boring, watching the political and judicial wheels spinning. Danica shifted in the seat she had been granted next to Aveline's clerk, willing her tingling leg to hold her when the time came to stand. Her curiosity called her attention back to the room around her, when Donnic himself stood to present the final matter.

Danica had been told that Aveline's court of high justice heard only cases of crimes against Kirkwall itself or those involving city officials, whether as the accused or the injured party. She hadn't expected to see one of the latter before she came today, and was wise enough not to ask Aveline about whatever lesson of experience passed across the viscount's face when this case was mentioned this morning.

"Accused is former guardsman Brigham, no family name, late of the Templar Order and recruited into the City Guard following the retreat of same from the City of Kirkwall."

Aveline, sitting up now in the high-backed chair from which she conducted the affair, raised a hand to stop the presentation. " _Former_ guardsman?"

"Yes, Your Excellency. Following my investigation into the events of which he stands accused, I exercised my authority to strip him of rank and right in addition to jailing him pending your judgment."

Nodding her acceptance, the viscount gestured for him to continue. If she privately thought decorum requiring her husband to call her "Excellency" was riotously amusing, she showed no sign of it now. Court was court, and her humor would never in these circumstances rise above her awareness of victims she had failed in the past.

"Three mornings ago, Nicola, no family name known, an elven woman in the employ of the Comte and Comtesse du Launcet, was found dead in an enclosed alley to the west of the estate she served. Evidence of her person indicated forced violation, her death apparently resulting from a broken neck. Thirteen witnesses, whose statements were delivered to Your Excellency yesterday, gave testimony that they observed Brigham in various stages of his flight from the location where the remains of the victim were found.

"When put to questioning about his involvement in the events, the accused protested that his liaison was conducted with her consent, but would not offer further testimony. On review of the statements provided and as a result of my own enquiries, I availed myself of the remedies previously mentioned and present the matter now to Your Excellency for ruling."

Having heard the formal presentation, even though she'd gotten most of it at home from Donnic the day of, Aveline turned her attention now to the accused. Here, her countenance was every bit the Guard-Captain of her past, stony and blank. "What have you to say in your defense?"

Eyes on the floor, Brigham attempted to wait her out. When it became clear nothing would happen until he spoke, he offered only, "I did nothing to her she didn't want."

Sharply, in a voice that commanded his attention upon her, Aveline pressed. "Do you deny causing this woman's death?"

As he opened his mouth to speak, the former guardsman found himself wholly unable to lie under the piercing gaze directed at him from the dais. Instead, he simply repeated himself, mindless of the admission hidden within his evasion. "I did nothing to her she didn't want."

Repeating her direct question netted the same response twice more.

Aveline thumbed through the witness statements she'd brought with her, reviewing certain facts as she considered the case before her and weighed the defendant's lack of denial. At length, she addressed the Guard-Captain. "In comparing the facts presented and the testimony given by those witnessing these events, the meager defense presented by the accused is found to be wanting. Hang him. One week hence, at dawn. Speak to me of a stay in judgment only if appropriate parties can't be located and notified within that time."

Danica joined the viscount in her office after the court had formally been brought to a close. "Again, Aveline, thank you for letting me see some of the process. I don't know if I'll give in to what everyone _thinks_ is a good idea, taking any involvement in government beyond my current role on the council, but it was good to see things as they work."

"For what it's worth, I don't think you'd do badly. There's a strong sense of justice lurking somewhere under that smart mouth. I swear if I didn't know better, I'd have guessed you to be Hawke's long-lost sister."

"Ha! I'm told an old assassin friend of Alistair's took that to be the case in Antiva as well, before we got around to proper introductions. If it does come down the Amell line, it kind of makes me wonder what Leandra was hiding after everything I've heard of her. You're joining us again at the Hanged Man tonight? See us off?"

"Wouldn't miss it. Off with you now; enjoy what's left of your day. Bran's due a tongue-lashing, and I assume he thinks the same of me."

* * *

Anders took his time over the morning meal – well, for him, anyway, as it was already close to midday when he roused himself enough to make the trip downstairs. At loose ends with the others gone hunting for supplies or whatever they were up to, the healer was content to let the day pass slowly, even if he might have been a bit anxious to leave Kirkwall behind. Pushing his plate away, he caught movement in the corner of his eye and saw Carver slowly descending the stairs, quite obviously favoring his left leg.

Abandoning what was left of the small beer he'd been drinking, he rose and crossed the common room, his question to Carver plain on his face as he approached.

"Good. It's just you, and not, um. Him. Um…" The warrior glanced about a bit, leaning now on the wall beside the staircase to take his weight off the leg. "Could you… do you think… Um… Private?"

 _More red in his face than in the sauce I tossed over the bread just now. Hopefully it's related to the stammering and not whatever his condition is._ "Right, then. Lean on me, back we go." For convenience, he shuffled the man into the room he and Davin shared, as it was closest. "What's happened to you?"

"There's an… Um. A burn."

"A burn? What would you find in here to burn yourself on?"

"Well, it's… two burns. Small ones. But… Deep, I guess? With the leg not working right?"

"All right. You don't have to be uncomfortable with me, I know you know this as often as I've healed you before, but you're getting more so. Shall we just get it over with?"

Carver's color only deepened, and he hated it. They'd been stuck on the road for days with each other. It wasn't as if there was anything Anders hadn't seen by now. It wasn't like anything novel was going on, either, but in his mind he could just _hear_ the responses if the others found out _this_ way. Saying nothing, he fixed his gaze in the far corner and fumbled with the catch of his trousers, shifting his breeches and smalls far enough out of the way to expose the injuries.

Anders saw, high on the man's leg, two circular burns, less than a hand's width apart. "Maker's breath, Carver, did you drop a candle or what?"

"Can you just… You know?" Carver waggled his fingers at the wounds in what seemed to be an indication of magic.

"Not without knowing what kind of burn it is, and…" The healer trailed off, passing a faintly glowing hand over the cracked and blistering skin, careful to avoid any contact that would further embarrass the warrior. Registering the muscle weakness he found beneath, he continued. "I'd also need to know the extent of the damage. It's a quirk I have. When my patient is conscious and speaking, I prefer not to guess at proper treatment."

Carver breathed deeply once, then twice. "It's just that… Merrill and I… and she…"

Anders blinked for a moment before his mind leaped into action, and he offered some small thanks to the Maker that he was able to keep his clinical face on at the thought. "Got it. Hang on." Retrieving a needle and cloth from his packs, he set about clearing out the blisters before igniting his power and channeling it into muscle and skin. After another mortifying moment for Carver, he was able to give the nod for the man to dress again, turning around to afford him some privacy as clothes were tugged back into place.

 _No help for it, I suppose. Now that he's decent again, I have to ask…_ "Does Merrill… need me to teach her how to properly use the electricity?"

"What?" Carver cursed his voice for pitching high. He knew he had nothing to be ashamed of, but… "No. _No._ She got it fig- she got it figured out. She just, ah… She pushed down with her hand there to stand, and… Forgot to shut it off."

At hearing this, Anders lost his healer-like composure and shook for a moment with silent laughter. _No, there really is no help for it._ Sobering, he turned back to face the warrior fully. "Really, though, Carver. You're both all right?"

"Why wouldn't we be?"

"It's just this whole thing has been brewing for a while. If it's not my business feel free to say, but if it's what you want, then I'm happy for you."

"Right. It is. And we are. Erm. Thanks."

"That's good, then." Knowing it would embarrass the man and knowing he wouldn't be a proper healer if he didn't offer, Anders was left with no choice. "You know you can talk to me if you need anything. Preventives and such. And you can let the rest know on your own time. I won't be filling Davin in on the details, I promise you."

"Right. Yes. Thanks." Abandoning dignity, Carver fled back to the sanctuary of his room.

* * *

The healer wasn't the only one content to remain at loose ends. Fenris, for all the little sleep he'd gotten before rising yesterday, had remained awake quite late contemplating the strange turns his life had taken since his final escape from Tevinter. Strangest among them, he had supposed, being his willing return to the land of the magisters, and the relative safety he felt while there in the company of those he'd come to trust.

Rising later in the morning than he would have thought possible, he was agreeable enough to taking a cup of tea with Varric when the dwarf called out to him as he passed. _Or taking a cup of tea in Varric's company, at any rate_ , the elf thought, recalling his friend's dislike for the drink.

"Heard about your rumble in Hightown yesterday, Elf. Wouldn't have pegged you as the one who would miss pounding on gangs in the dark."

"I had just begun to reflect on the life I had here at the time as well. Some elements are more easily forgotten than others. I was fortunate that the guard lieutenant was in a position to see the attack and assist."

"Good for you!" Varric allowed himself a moment to chuckle. "Never thought I'd hear you praising the arrival of a mage."

The dwarf's incessant needling of his friends had not been among the things Fenris forgot. Giving Varric his usual empty expression over the rim of his cup, he blandly intoned, "I believe I may detect a number of stray follicles about your jowl, Dwarf."

Varric grinned broadly. "That hurt, Fenris, that really did. Why not just fetch your enormous sword and cut me with it? Tomorrow's it, if you're staying on with the rest of them. Should I ask if you're ready for Ferelden, or if Ferelden is ready for you?"

"The destination means little to me. I have given no thought, even, to whether we will stay in Denerim or travel beyond. Perhaps I will ask the king on our arrival if his capital city possesses a sufficiency of broody youths, or if I should remain to inspire expectant mothers."

The dwarf's palm struck the table as an accent to his mirth. "Twice in a row! Now I'm wondering if I should trust you to give me accurate details of your trip around the world. Be a friend, Elf, and tell me all about it. I need to hear the truth so I can put together what to edit out. Or in."

* * *

Hawke maneuvered through the Lowtown market with vague purpose, recalling the vendors he'd need to provide for their upcoming voyage. Various trinkets and crafts caught his eye as he wandered through the stalls, lifting random bits to consider as gifts. Or, as had been the case with a few, for closer inspection to determine what in the bloody Void they were meant to be. It occurred to him as the sellers complained that he had no true appreciation for art that the trappings of noble life had never properly fit him. He had always been more at home having little and giving meaningfully, he supposed.

It wasn't until he heard Merrill speaking at his elbow that he realized she'd been uncharacteristically quiet since she'd joined him in the market.

"Hawke, you're a healer."

Puzzled, Hawke angled his head to talk with her as he aimed himself in the general direction of the stall he'd meant to visit. "Only when Anders isn't around to be, yes."

"But you spent so much time in the clinic, you must know. Is it… Is it easy to heal a burn?"

"That… would depend on the burn, Merrill. On how severe it is, and what kind it is. Why do you ask?"

"What if it was two burns? Just little ones, in circles, with maybe a blister?"

"Should be easy enough to heal, then, if you got the blisters out of the way. Why? Were you burned on your way to find me?"

The elf's face took on an abashed look, and she suddenly found it hard to hold her friend's eyes. "Well, I… _sort-of-charred-Carver-on-the-leg-with-lightning-this-morning_."

Playing the words back in his mind, as they'd been delivered at twice the speed of Merrill's usual lilt, Hawke took a minute to arrive at his question. "Why would you have had reason to be using electricity around Carver?"

"It's only that after we woke up this morning, I thought it might be a good idea to try out that sparky thing Danica showed me in the market back in that little village." Absently, Merrill let the electricity flow over her hand to illustrate her meaning. "Charity, was it? Only I forgot I was doing it and-"

"Wait. Wait. Back up. After _we_ woke up?" The implication was settling in – _and Danica just_ would _show her that, wouldn't she?_ – and he realized he'd not once, in eight years' time, considered that the elf might actually respond to his brother's… whatever it was. "You and Carver? When did this happen?"

"I-i-it only happened yesterday, but the more I think about it, the more I wonder if it didn't _really_ happen a long time ago and I just didn't notice."

"And you're… happy? This is something the both of you wanted?"

Unable to stop herself, Merrill was now beaming again, which would have been all the answer he'd needed. "It is. It really, really is. But then I forgot I was – oh, look, I forgot I was doing it again! – and I put my hand on his leg to stand up and it hurt him. He said it wasn't bad, but there were the blisters, but he wanted me to meet you like we planned, so if I was going to do that I made him promise to talk to Anders."

 _Maker's mercy, and he'd do it for her, too._ Rumbling his amusement, Hawke assured her that if Anders was seeing to it, all would be well.

As more items were pressed into his already overfull pack, Merrill went on. "Do you think we're almost done, here? I just thought, Carver must think I've gone mad, with the amount of laughing I was doing this morning when I realized how many of Isabela's jokes I understand, now."

* * *

The evening went on much longer than had been planned, with Aveline repeating her insistence several times that letters be written from wherever they ended up. Of all of them, it had been Merrill who surprised the rest by suggesting that going on to Denerim was the right thing to do, if they wanted to keep their good memories in Kirkwall and leave the rest.

Danica admitted that as the day progressed, she'd become increasingly anxious at the thought of finally going _home_. If she saw the pride in the grin Anders gave her at hearing how she said the word, she pretended her ignorance well.

Merrill passed most of the evening held close against Carver, who managed to stop changing shades of red when Aveline stepped to his other side and whispered in his ear that it was about time they sorted it out. Somehow, those in the know managed to rein in their laughter as the elf prodded the man's leg and asked repeatedly if he was all right, when she thought no one was looking.

Fenris was content to recline with his mug and watch the exchanges passing back and forth throughout the room, pleased with knowing there would be many more such evenings in his future.

As they broke away from the group to sleep off their last night in Kirkwall, Anders confessed to Hawke that he had given heavy thought to returning to the Circle tower, to see as they had with the Gallows what had become of it, but had this afternoon decided against it. He'd arrived at the wisdom that going back didn't necessarily have to mean looking back, and perhaps staying in Denerim for a time – or longer – would be a decent step toward looking ahead.


	10. Epilogue: Home

**_16 Firstfall, 9:40 Dragon_ **

_Viscountess Bulbous Cherub,_

 _You can't stab me from there, so stop thinking about it. I couldn't resist. We were greeted this past week with your letter and your veiled promises to arrange an armed visit of state to press certain people you probably shouldn't threaten for details that I may have failed to include among information about the weather in my previous letters. (It's bloody cold, by the way, and thank you for asking.) We've been repeatedly assured of the security of this letter with the promise it's going out under guard, sealed within the next state delivery to you, so I'm told I can be candid here._

 _You won't like hearing it, but we've kept the papers we were provided by an unnamed ally, and the names associated with them. Circle approval is hardly needed for mages to be out and about now, but they do go some way to affording us the anonymity we need. We've friends in high places willing to attest to their legitimacy if it comes to that, so it's worked well. The pretense can be tiring, however, so among ourselves our names haven't changed._

 _Stroke of luck that we were asked to investigate the rumors that reached us here about a concentration of 'blood mages' in the bannorn earlier this year, no? (They weren't, and Alistair saw fit to grant us the authority to promise them the Crown's protection against those bent on being rid of them on our finding that they weren't up to anything nefarious.) It made all of us ill to think of Varric pinned in that estate and being grilled over us, even if he probably did promptly start a serial about a Seeker with whips and chains in her bureau as soon as she turned him loose. If you're able, please give him our thanks for telling the Seeker he didn't know where we were. We_ did _tell him in our last letter before that trip that we were going out, and that we had no idea where we'd be or when we'd return, but it is appreciated that he didn't tell her where we'd eventually show up._

 _It does bother us, a little, each time we hear of a new uprising or outbreak, but the whole thing is so spread out there's no easy way to choose where we could possibly do a meaningful amount of good. We've been set up with more space here in the Market District than we thought we could ever figure out how to use, even operating a clinic that's managed to be busy since the doors first opened and with two of us living here. It was originally enough for us to know we're giving mages a good name here, in a place where that kind of thing is needed, but I'm getting ahead of myself._

 _You can imagine Anders's reaction when we were summoned to the palace to discuss the building here. Freely given by the Crown, if we agreed to use it to heal those in need and tax those who can afford to pay for their care. (I don't care_ what _they say, the workers from the Pearl can damned well afford it. Inflation hasn't just hit the markets, if you take my meaning.) The man can wade hip-deep in blood and pus and discharges and Maker knows what else and be perfectly content even if he does complain about the smell. You'd better believe_ I _object to it on a regular basis._

 _Carver and Merrill have certainly found what they need in each other. He's even been known to speak in complete sentences in her presence, just lately. Even after all the changes we saw in him over the years in Kirkwall, I have to admit I didn't think him capable of being what he is for her. It's just a shame that those of us cursed with any amount of imagination whatsoever have to put up with the mental images that form whenever Merrill so happily shares her newfound understanding of something_ dirty _._

 _Carver is doing quite well in his post as Captain of the King's Guard. It's a bit more specialized, as you so rightly noted when speaking of those poncy gits in Orlais, but it suits him well. I'm told he's made a number of changes to the castle's defenses and patrols, and in very short order discovered exactly how Arl Eamon always seemed to be so aware of certain goings-on. The results he's gotten have quelled most of the griping that the post wasn't filled with someone out of the City Guard command. Of course we're all proud of him, but none so much as Merrill._

 _For the longest time, Fenris spent his every waking moment guarding the clinic, and he's still scaring away threats most every day. He has begun a courtship, however – if you can call something moving this painfully slowly a courtship – with one of the lady's maids from the castle. She evidently also originally came from Tevinter, choosing not to take a trade once her freedom was earned. I can't say I don't understand their caution, but Maker's sake, they won't be able to wed after they die of old age, either. I don't know if I have it in me to watch another friend take as long as Carver and Merrill did to figure out where they're going. At least I won't have to hear about anything_ dirty _from Fenris. Shut up about the length of time it took Anders and me to go anywhere._

 _With the Chantry's hold on things all but completely gone, Danica finally bowed to pressure from Alistair – all right, and from those of us who know her best. The King's Justice has been the Queen's Justice for most of the year now, and the city has been abuzz with gossip over how much harder our cousin is than the King has ever been. And these aren't complaints, either. We've always heard how fair Alistair is, and we hear the same of her, but I'm sure you can imagine she has little patience for those who try to sneak something in hidden under semantics. Apparently, Alistair is currently working on getting her to take over some of the contract disputes among the nobles as well, a move I'm sure she's fighting viciously against._

 _During a recent visit to the castle, I had the singular privilege of naming the newest stick to find a home in Arl Eamon's arse, as well. Seems with Danica handling more affairs of state, his influence with Alistair is slipping – not that he had buckets of it to begin with – and he is most decidedly not pleased. I could tell the minute I met him why she can't stand the man, and that was_ before _hearing about his notions on child-rearing and political favor. Also, his beard puts me in mind of a wet and strangled cat._

 _Which reminds me. Aveline is expecting, something about which Varric is wholly indifferent. With all the space, we're considering keeping one of the kittens and naming her Isabela, though we'd have to keep them long enough to claim the one with the best strut. I've never seen Anders so beside himself as when one of the two does something that's endearing in the slightest._

 _The pair of them followed me home from the market during midsummer, wandering in as if they owned the place. Anders was busy with a number of patients, so I managed to sneak them upstairs without his notice. I know you like to avoid direct confrontation of topics like this, but even your stony gaze would have softened at the look on his face when he finally dragged himself up from the clinic and found a couple of tabbies purring on his pillow. I'm to tell you the names were his decision, for all that they match. Aveline is violence in motion, and Varric never shuts up._

 _On second thought, maybe we_ won't _call one Isabela._

 _For all that we thought we had no use for the extra space, I've just come from talking to Alistair and Danica about provisions for our new plans for the extra rooms, here. Not a week after our return from the jaunt to the bannorn, a family came up from the alienage asking if this was where the healers with magic lived. The man of that particular house_ did _need healing, though the damage to his leg was mostly already mended by the time he got here. Turns out he'd been hurt while putting up some new construction in the alienage to replace one of the tenements, and his daughter (she's seven, and I suppose you'd say adorable if you had any idea at all what to do with a child – I certainly don't) chose that moment to manifest her power. Anders was nothing short of amazed at what she'd managed to do in her first rush of magic, and even now is convinced that by the time she's of age her power will have surpassed his._

 _After Anders dealt with what was left of the leg injury, we had to think about the number of new mages coming into the world or coming into their power who haven't anywhere to go. The Circles are gone, and magic is accepted or not to varying degrees depending on which bit of sod you're standing on, which leaves those who need training, as they say in Starkhaven, shite out of luck. So now we've got the word out that there are mages here willing to teach, though boarding is out of the question. We're not keeping them here. If families need help finding lodging and work to stay here so their children can have lessons during the day, we'll host them and help get them out on their own, but we didn't see the Circles fall only to round mages up and chain them down again._

 _Of all of us, Merrill has been the most successful at teaching, though we've all been involved to some extent. Even those students who need Anders or myself, if they wake their gifts with affinity for magics Merrill doesn't have, still prefer to go to her for guidance and questions on being a mage in general. And any number of other things, come to that. She took to it like a fish to water, for all she spent years in Kirkwall telling us she'd have made a terrible Keeper. Come to find out, she just needed to find the right clan._

 _When you do next visit, you'll have to let us treat you to an evening at the Gnawed Noble. It's nowhere near as disastrous or wonderful as the Hanged Man, but it's served well enough as our watering hole these last two years we've been in the city. The food is arguably better, but I just haven't been able to resign myself to drinking in an establishment whose barkeep's name doesn't sound like an affliction of the chest. Anders actually came out ahead at Wicked Grace last week, and you can't tell me_ that's _right._

 _Maker, it's taken me forever to write this. You have my solemn word, Aveline, to keep you better in the loop in future, if only so my hand isn't so numb from the quill I can't lift a pint for hours afterwards. Violent state visits don't scare me. Much._

 _~DH_


End file.
